


The Lost Generation

by Unforth



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, History, World War 1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-11-01
Updated: 2007-11-14
Packaged: 2018-04-03 13:31:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 92,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4102762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unforth/pseuds/Unforth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>HP history. Pre...everything in the books. Delia Prince wants nothing more to lay low and get through school at Hogwarts. However, the advent of World War 1 has forced the muggle world into the magical in a way that even the students at Hogwarts cannot ignore. With a family stumbling into decline, war on the continent, refugees integrating with the Hogwarts student body, 5th years participating in battle, and the suspicious headmaster Pellucid Nox visiting with students from his German school, there's plenty to keep a Prefect occupied.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Prince Family's Embarrassing Problem

**Author's Note:**

> I've been thinking a lot over the last few months about what to do with this story. Finally, I decided...what the hell, might as well post it, since I'm doing the whole fanfic thing now.
> 
> Background. In 2005 to 2006, I played in a Harry Potter LARP with a bunch of friends. The setting was an alternate past for the books - the characters were at Hogwarts in 1914. They made some other changes to the setting, too - things like creating a field of basically steam punk magic called Automata - and we all played in the sandbox and had a blast.
> 
> I was having a lot of fun, and decided that for kicks and giggles, I'd write the story up. I posted the segments on Livejournal as I finished them, back when I still used Livejournal (there's some other writing on mine, starting from late 2004, I think, same username as here, if you're really bored some day...I haven't updated since early 2012, for Reasons). I started writing it in 2005, got a lot done, but then stalled and didn't finish until 2007. When I finished the manuscript, I was shocked to discover it was 96,000 words. As such, it's the second novel I ever wrote. (The first was original fiction, finished a month before I finished this story...and that will never, ever see the light of day...)
> 
> I make no claims to high art with this story, nor to a thoroughly thought through world. The rethinking of the HP setting that was done isn't even mine, it belongs to the friends who helped run the game. Writing something amazing was never the point. The point was that my friends and I had a load of fun playing this game and I wanted to preserve the memories, so I wrote them down.
> 
> I reread it not that long ago after not thinking about it for five or six years and...it's not bad. I have no idea how it will communicate to someone who wasn't there. I'm planning to edit it minimally as I go, and I'll likely remove some of the side plots that I included because they happened in the game but that aren't actually relevant to the main plot. Oh, and note that originally there were no chapter breaks, so I just divided it arbitrarily.
> 
> The PoV character was my character, and all the other characters mentioned were either PCs or NPCs. If memory serves, the only canon character in the story is Phineas Nigellus Black.
> 
> Read if you want, or not. This is mostly a personal project, to have it backed up somewhere, and because I don't see the point in having writing it and then keeping it to myself.
> 
> There's no smut, though there is a pretty good dose of romantic cuteness. And if you're reading my current stuff, I dunno, maybe it's an interesting contrast - certainly, I find it weird and kinda cool to see how far my writing as come in the past decade.
> 
> Note that I've set the publication date to the month when I finished the story - November, 2007.
> 
> Anyway - if you're reading this, enjoy. :)

As I look back now on the years I spent at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, it seems strange to think that we were only children. The things that happened, the things we did – I’ve done nothing since that equal in all the years that have passed since my graduation. Yet, still, I know that there are others that did far more, far different things than I, for I was content to do nothing for the first two years of my time at the school, inaction I regret to this day. Thus, it was not until my third year as a student at Hogwarts, not long after my 16th birthday, that I started to be active in the momentous events that were taking place in the world around us.

I had spent my first two years at school deeply engaged in studying, seeking to draw as little attention to myself as possible, concentrating on my grades. I had to do my best, to prove to my parents that I had been put in the right house, that Ravenclaw was the place for me despite their hopes that I be placed in Slytherin. When I was first sorted, I feared I would be disowned, for the family was in general agreement that it was a terrible blow to the our reputation that I not be placed in the ranks of the great and noble house of Slytherin. They used to say that I was the first in my family not of the snake, though I later learned that such was not the case, they simply had chosen not to acknowledge family members who had been put in any other house. I was determined not to join the ranks of forgotten Princes. I was determined to earn the respect of my family, to be the daughter that they would have wished me to be, even if I wasn’t a Slytherin.

There was only a single complication, a single stumbling block in the way of my seclusion. I generally preferred to keep to myself, it’s true, but when I was 14, my parents summoned me, their faces more serious than I had ever seen them before.

“Delia, we have some bad news for you,” my mother had said. I was instantly worried, thinking of all the horrible things that might have happened. Had someone passed away? My brother, Alasdair, was a senior at Hogwarts, and I started imagining all the horrible things that might have happened to him. Maybe he wandered into the forest, maybe he got caught by the giant squid, maybe…maybe…my imagination produced all sorts of horrors, focused on my brother for no reason I could have identified, and in the few moments before my parents continued I had thoroughly convinced myself that my brother had been eaten by a manticore.

“Delia…” my parents exchanged a glance, each looking terribly uncomfortable, “…we don’t know how to tell you this, but, well, you’ll have to use your brothers hand-me-down robes from when he was younger.”

I just stared at them, not understanding what they were telling me. “Alasdair’s alright, isn’t he?” I asked, terribly worried about thestrals, chimeras, and giant squid.

My parents both looked startled. “Yes, of course, Alasdair’s fine. However, we…we can’t…maintain you...at Hogwarts as you might wish. Fortunately, we’ve kept all of your brother’s old school things.” My father looked stern. “You’d better take all of the same classes he did!”

Even then, I still didn’t really realize what they meant. Slowly, I tried to work through my confused thoughts out loud. “So…what you mean is that if I don’t take the same classes as Alasdair, I won’t have school books?”

My mother nodded solemnly, my father looked away as if he was ashamed. “Yes, Delia.”

“But…but…Alasdair focused in transfiguration! I hate transfiguration! I want to focus in potions…” I whined, pouting in an exaggerated fashion.

Whining was exactly the wrong thing to do, though. All sense of sympathy from my parents faded, and my father snapped at me. “Yes, well, we’ve had to make sacrifices, too. You’re not the only one. Your brother has had to manage on the Quidditch team using a broom that is nearly five years old, while all of the other students have new brooms. Your mother,” my mother looked away, her eyes full of tears, “had to wear the same robes to the last three parties thrown by the Malfoy’s. And I myself have had to stop going to the club entirely, lest the others realize my sad situation. Everyone else in this family is doing their best, and we expect the same from you, young lady!”

I nodded, trying to look demure, submissive, but already I was forming a plan. My parents could not object if I raised the money to buy my books on my own. I have always excelled at potions, a talent neglected by my family members since my great-grandmother had died. She left behind an impressively stocked cabinet filled with potion ingredients, both common and rare. No one would notice if I took some with me to school, no one would notice if I began to do some brewing that was not, strictly speaking, on the curriculum. There must be demand certain types of potions amongst the students at the school. All I had to do was work hard to meet that demand and not waste what ingredients I had. Thus, I could make some knuts and sickles on the side with which I could acquire what I needed to pursue my studies as I saw fit, without reference to Alasdair’s preferences. Politely, properly obedient, I agreed to their restrictions, let them pack my bags with used books and robes worked over with spells to make them appear new again, and planned out what potions I could use to make my own fortune now that my parents would not –could not - allow me access to theirs.

Thus, I found myself in a peculiar intermediate position as the years at Hogwarts passed slowly. On the one hand, I am and always have been something of a private person, not given to excessive interest in social interactions and not, in my opinion, terribly good with people. On the other hand, I discovered something of a taste for business, and I enjoyed the small amount of luxury that earning money afforded me. The fact that the luxuries so acquired were such that my parents should by all rights have been able to provide me with anyway did not cheapen my sense of accomplishment. Indeed, at the time it never occurred to me. I was pleased with the benefits of having money, I was glad that I could buy my school things, my books, my ingredients. My parents never asked where I got the money, and I never told them. I imagine they still don’t know.

The biggest surprise for me, given the generally closeted nature of my first two years at Hogwarts, was the inclusion of a Prefects badge in the list of materials I needed for my third year of school. At first, I thought that there must be some mistake, for surely there were more qualified candidate. Over the next few days, as I considered through the question of “why me,” I realized a few things. First, I could think of only one or two other girls in the third, fourth and fifth years of study who might be qualified. Most of the Ravenclaws were even more studious then myself, more quiet and introverted and generally secluded. My business dealings had given me the appearance of interest in something beyond books. Second, though I couldn’t exactly pin down what effect it would have, there was the muggle “war to end all wars” to consider. That summer, many pure bloods, from my family and from others, still believed it was a war only of concern to the muggles – how foolish we were – but it had a profound impact on people all over Europe, so I thought perhaps it might have affected some of my more qualified classmates, and hence might explain my selection. Third, and I decided most likely, was the favor I had with the head master. Though I know that, to this day, most look at me with stunned amazement when I say this, I have always had a very high opinion of Phineas Nigellus. He was my mentor, and a better man than he is given credit for. No matter what can be said about him in the capacity of head master of Hogwarts, he was an unmatched potion maker, and I credit him with a great deal of the success I have had throughout my life. My admiration of him translated into a tendency to follow him around, seek his advice, and generally pursue his input on matters related to potions, and I flatter myself to think that he was impressed with my abilities. Hence, I supposed that my promotion to the rank of Prefect was a credit to his influence.

However, I am digressing quite badly, I apologize. It’s amazing to me how clearly the details of events that are so long passed return to me so vividly. It’s hard not to pursue these tangents that seize my fancy, for they allow me if only for a few moments longer to immerse myself in the lost days of my youth.

The summer before my third year passed quickly. My parents were at first enthusiastically pleased with my new badge and congratulated me effusively. However, as the days passed, their praise became less and less complimentary, until, in the end, the message was simple. “Congratulations on being made a prefect, darling, but it would mean so much more if you were a Slytherin.” This didn’t surprise in particular, for they had had precisely the same reaction when I was named keeper of the Quidditch team. “Excellent, really,” they’d say, “a great achievement, but...” I wouldn’t have been bothered by this but for the fact that it represented such a sad transformation. They wanted to be proud of me, I know that they did, and they were proud of me until they remembered that I was not in Slytherin. The moment that they recalled the eagle on my badge their pride faded into an emotion I always feared to name shame. I used to find myself wondering if they ever told their friends about me, or if they pretended I didn’t exist. I was terrified that it was the later. I’ve never admitted that before. It’s amusing, in retrospect, to think that the prospect worried me so. 

I approached the train station on the first day of classes with mixed feelings. I was nervous about my new role of authority and I anticipated with excitement the first day of classes, when I would begin advanced potions a year before I was technically eligible to do so. It would be reasonable to suppose that I wanted to see my friends, but that would be untrue, for, sadly, I had few friends. I was acquainted with the other members of the Quidditch team, but the majority of last year’s team had graduated; I knew the other people in my year, but none well; and my only consistent business associates were the Lunari twins, two mischievous Gryffindor’s who I made an effort to avoid public contact with. It was a rather sad situation, but fortunately my new position as Prefect would do much to remedy it over the following year. Still, as I kissed my mother good bye and took my trunk from my father, contents rattling, I couldn’t help but wonder what the year ahead held in store. Would I be a good prefect? Would I learn many interesting things? Would the Quidditch team do well? Would I finally be forced into studying Automata? What would the new students at the school be like? Only a child could have contained so many anxieties within her head without suffering some form of breakdown – not that I thought of myself as a child then.

My responsibilities as Prefect began as soon as I boarded the train. While the other students spent their journeys eating treats from the food cart and catching up with friends, I spent mine in the front cabin along with the other new prefects and the new head boy and head girl, learning about the responsibilities and authorities that had been granted to each of us. It was daunting. We were expected to be conversant with school rules and to make sure that the students in our houses – and in other houses, if such a situation arose - were following these rules (and there were many, many rules!), to perform service duties such as helping with chores and aiding professors with demonstrations and the like, and more, so much more, that had to be done, all in addition to maintaining our studies and any other extracurricular activities that we were involved in.

Once they finished explaining everything to us, they set us lose on an unsuspecting student body. All the school rules – many of which I’d never heard before – swirled around in my head as I patrolled the corridor of the train cars seeking students doing misdeeds. To this day I can’t begin to guess what I would have done if I had actually found someone misbehaving. While I had always followed the rules assiduously (always excepting my independent business) I wasn’t the sort to interfere with what anyone else was doing. It was none of my concern if the Lunaris or anyone else wished to engage in mischief. Fortunately, I was spared this harrowing conflict, and we arrived at the school without anything untoward happening.


	2. The First Day

It was dark when we reached Hogwarts that night. Everyone chattered excitedly as they exited the train. The first years were herded towards the boats, the rest of us gathering in the line of carriages that would talk us up to the school. I lagged behind to make sure that all of the students ended up where they need to be, and, once I was sure, went into one of the last carriages with a few other students who had fallen behind for various reasons. The ride was over almost before we knew it, and as a body we all climbed the entrance stairs up and into the castle.

There is no way I can describe the Great Hall at Hogwarts to those who haven’t seen it. It would take one far more poetic than I to convey the sense of wonder, the majesty, the beauty of that vast hall. Even to those who attended the school for five years, who eat three meals a day in that chamber every day, it never enters the realm of the mundane, for it is ever changing. The ceiling stretched high, high above your head as you walk in, the long tables arranged in rows before the teachers table. The cold gray stone of the walls and floor were always richly lit with the golden glow of candles. On sunny days, the great glass windows shattered the light of the sun into streams in a rainbow of colors, and the dust that slightly filled the air danced in breezes and sparkled in the light. When the weather was less pleasing, the hall was always warm and welcoming, full of the smell of delicious food and the quiet murmur of conversation. Most wondrous of all was the ceiling. Painted magically across it was a glamour that projected the sky above. Storms raged, stars twinkled, clouds scuttled across the sun, snow and hail and wind and bright blue sky all graced us in turn. I wish I could spin the picture so that everyone who read this could see, but I have no talent for illusions, and hopefully my words have been adequate.

That night the hall was in rare form. The sky overhead was crystal clear, and the stars and a dazzling full moon graced us as we entered. Below, the tables were aglow with candles and laid out with place settings for all of the students. Many of the seats were already taken as I came in with the final group arriving, yet I couldn’t help but notice with distress how very thin the ranks of students looked. I remember wondering if this was attributable to the muggle war. At the time, I couldn’t believe that the war could have had such a profound effect on us – it wasn’t as if it was our war – yet I could think of no other reason why so many students of old were no longer there. As I headed towards my seat, I tried to push such thoughts away.

I took a seat opposite Lycia Gringott, another Ravenclaw girl in my year. She was the daughter of one of the heads of the Gringott’s bank at Diagon Alley. I never learned her father’s exact position – indeed, I never asked – but she was destined for a bright future in the banking profession. That said, she and I didn’t get along that well at times. She was temperamental and often distant, determined to do her family proud. When I say it that way, I can’t escape the feeling that she sounds a great deal like me. Anyway, she and I didn’t always see eye to eye, but she was a girl of strong principals, and I have always respected her for that. That day, she sat, appearing vaguely disinterested with all she belehd, casually flipping a galleon between her fingers. Her cat, Methuselah, hissed at me as I sat down, but it was an ancient, foul tempered beast, and I ignored it pointedly.

“How was your summer?” I asked, deciding that being Prefect meant that I needed to work at my level of social activeness.

“Oh?” Lycia blinked at me for a moment before shrugging. “It was what it was.”

“Could have been much worse,” I said, trying to sound cheerful. “Did you study, or work, or travel?”

“Worked,” she replied succinctly, with a tone that effectively ended any efforts to make conversation.

Nodding to myself, I was spared trying to figure out what I was supposed to do next by the arrival of the headmaster and other teachers of the school. As Headmaster Nigellus took his chair, all of the students stood in unison as welcome, for such was the tradition then, waiting for him to speak. “In a moment, the Sorting will begin,” he said without preamble. “Until then, I expect you all to be completely silent. You can be seated now.” And, echoing his words, we all sat down, doing our best to keep the scraping of chairs and shuffling of robes to a minimum. All of the upper classmen knew what drastic actions the Headmaster took when students did not do precisely as he said. Strictness was a value well understood at Hogwarts in those days.

I couldn’t honestly say how long the silence that followed the Headmaster’s order lasted. As is so often the case with such things, at the time I could swear it was an eternity, an interminable length of time with no sound or movement but for the occasional rustle of cloth or heavy breath. In those long minutes, I reflected on my own sorting with annoyance, for the memory still rankled even after two years. My name had been called, I had stepped forward, and the hat had been set on my head. I remember the certainty I had that I would be placed in Slytherin house, so certain that it never occurred to me that the hat might say anything else. My brother, my parents, my grandparents, and even further back in my direct line, all had been of Slytherin. I was intelligent, I knew that, I was ambitious, or so I thought, and, most importantly, I couldn’t even conceive of being placed anywhere else. At the time, it didn’t occur to me that all that might not be enough. As it slowly dawned on me that the hat would be sorting me elsewhere, I begged, pleaded with it to place me in Slytherin, but it was not to be, for the hat was adamant. But I’m starting a business, I whined, isn’t that ambition? Aren’t I just like all those Slytherin’s in the past? No, no, it said in my mind, and without further preamble, for all to hear it had shouted, “Ravenclaw.” 

I wonder now what my life would have been like had I been sorted as I wished. There’s little doubt that it was much better this way, for the hat had me down solidly. I never believed all of that gibberish about superior blood. I’d seen enough of our family tree to realize that it was all nonsense, and I’d watched enough of the actual world to realize that half-bloods, even muggles, had something to contribute. Though hating non-wizards wasn’t technically part of the Slytherin creed, it has become almost a requirement at least in the social sense – a Slytherin who shows compassion for anyone not of pure blood is a Slytherin who doesn’t have any friends at all.

Finally, after many minutes of such thoughts, the first years shuffled into the room, the sound of their footsteps scuffling on the stone floor upsettingly loud in the silent hall. Many of the students seemed to realize how loud they were being, for they looked both mortified and terrified, trying to be quiet, realizing that it was impossible and fearing the consequences as they stepped up in neat single file to the chair on which the Sorting Hat sat.

One by one, pale and frightened, the new first years were sorted by the hat. I was very surprised to notice that not all of the new students were, in fact, first years. One young lady, named Celestine, who appeared to be older than me, was sorted into Ravenclaw house, and I resolved to ask her what was going on. That wasn’t the only surprise, though. The thinned ranks of Hogwarts students at the house tables were reflected in the upsettingly small number of new students in comparison to past years. And again, I didn’t know what to think, I wondered if I should be worried, and expected that I should be. I hoped greatly that my questions would be answered by Celestine, or that perhaps one of the new first years in my house, Galatea and Eileen, could explain. Only three new students for all of Ravenclaw!

As each student took their seat, they were welcomed to their new house by applause, and usually also by handshakes by those whom they took a seat near. It was all a great sign of camaraderie, for we knew that those who had been sorted into our house were likely to have many personality traits in common with us, and therefore had a decent chance of becoming our friends, or at least positive acquaintances (this is an argument I have used more than once in favor of the house system, by the by). 

After the sorting had finished, the headmaster rose again, and all of the students fell silent. He ahemed, though unnecessarily, then said: “Before the commencement of the feast, I have a few announcements to make. First of all, first years are expected to know and obey all of the rules. Ignorance will not protect you from retribution, so I suggest that you familiarize yourself with our procedures as quickly as possible. All punishments are handled in the dungeon by our groundskeeper, which leads me to our second announcement. The extensive project to improve the quality of our dungeon facilities has been completed admirably. Students will now face even more unpleasant torments as a result of their misdeeds, which I hope you all will remember before performing any such actions. Punishment, once again, will be swift and harsh.” Headmaster Nigellus eyed the Lunari twins, who sat innocently at the Gryffindor table, as he said this.

“Next, Quidditch try outs will be held tomorrow for all interested parties. Please speak to your respective Quidditch Captains for details on available positions.” The headmaster paused meaningfully, and for a moment we all thought he was done. Thus, we were all surprised when he continued, sounding grave and smug at the same time. “We at Hogwarts have been in communication with the Ministry of Magic. As you all know, as part of the war effort, several groups of wizards have already been sent to France to assist the muggles in fighting the Germans. It is a great honor for us to announce the creation of a team of Hogwarts students to aid in these efforts. This unit, which will be called the Wizard Armed Patrol, or WAP, will be composed of many of our best and brightest students in their last year of study. Though they will still be attending classes, they will also perform special missions to aid our allies in France. These brave young men will go above and beyond what is normally asked of students at this school, and I expect them to have your full support. The students who have been selected are: Caius Serence and Guillermo Patil, of Slytherin.” He paused, and tentative applause flitted amongst the students, who clearly had no idea how to react to this news. Caius and Guillermo both stood and bowed their heads towards the headmaster’s table. “James Ferguson of Gryffindor.” James stood also, joining the other two boys. “And lastly, our new Head Boy, Marcus Relius of Hufflepuff.” Marcus stood also. 

All four boys looked dead serious and I started to realize for the first time that the war wasn’t just about muggles killing each other. Even now, people I knew, wizards I knew, were prepared to place themselves in mortal danger to aid in the effort. It was a horrifying thought, and part of me rebelled against it. Part of me wanted to stand up right then and there and shout for them all to sit down again, that no wizard should die for a muggle cause. At the same time, part of me felt the desperate need to learn more about this war, to learn why it might be necessary for us to be involved. It was a turning point in my life, though none of the boys were well known to me at the time. “Good luck, boys. Please be seated.”

The headmaster paused again, and once more we thought surely there could be nothing else, but the worst was yet to come. “I have also been asked to announce to following news from France. Reports indicate that the four wizards have been lost in aiding the war effort: William O’Haver, Stanley Copse, Julius Black and Henry Connor. Their sacrifices have not been in vain.” Horrified gasps went up from several people in the hall at the announcement. The boys who had been inducted into the Wizard Armed Patrol all looked vaguely sick, and, down the table from me, a choked sob came from one of the new students in my house, Eileen. I realized to my distress that one of those named shared her last name. The headmaster continued as if he had noticed nothing. “That is all. You may eat now.” He sat back down with a dismissive wave of his hand.

At the headmasters words, the plates on the long tables filled with a delicious assortment of food, but students were too engaged in hushed conversations to notice for a moment. At the Hufflepuff table, a few of the students were congratulating Marcus Relius, and the same at the Gryffindor table, meanwhile the Slytherin’s clumped together around their two new WAP members talking with low urgency. I took a little food and ate it hurriedly before approaching Eileen.

“Hello,” I said in a rush, “my name is Delia Prince, and I’m the Prefect of Ravenclaw house. Are you quite well? Is there anything I can get you?”

Her hands shaking as she brushed hair from her face, Eileen sniffed, her eyes full of tears. “My brother!” she wailed, “My brother is dead!”

With a chill, I realized I didn’t have the first clue what to do. What should I say? What would I want someone to say if Alasdair had died? No, it wasn’t at all the same, Alasdair was a prig (gone were my childhood thoughts of my wonderful big brother) and though I wouldn’t be happy if something were to happen to him, I wouldn’t be broken up either. What ever to say?

“Is there anything I can do to help? We should get in touch with your parents, certainly, and…” I looked around helplessly, before coming up with an idea. I patted the crying girl on the shoulder, and, as gently as I could, said, “I will get Professor Tremens, she’ll be able to help.”

I left and headed quickly and with a strange feeling of determination towards the table at which all of the teachers sat. Professor Icaria Tremens, Charms and Automata master, as well as the head of Ravenclaw house, was talking animatedly to Professor Patronius, the head of Hufflepuff. Professor Tremens was easily the most gregarious person I have ever met, incongruous with her position, yet there it was. She was also brilliant. We all loved her dearly and looked up to her greatly, for she was knowledgeable and helpful, sweet and caring. I know I always felt she was something of a second mother figure, and I expect I wasn’t the only person who thought of her as such.

“Oh, Delia darling, how are you, did you have a good summer?” Professor Tremens noticed me, turned my way, cut off her conversation with Professor Patronius, and greeted me all in one single smooth motion. 

“Professor Tremens, hello, thank you I’m quite well, my summer was excellent. However, there is something of a problem. Eileen O’Haver is very upset. One of the names that Headmaster Nigellus said was her brother.”

Suddenly turning serious, Professor Tremens nodded and started making her way towards the end of the staff table. “I’m sorry, Patronius,” she said as she went, pardoning and excusing herself past the other teachers between her and the end of the table.

“Oh, quite all right, Icaria, quite all right,” Patronius called after her even as I led her towards Eileen.

I hurried back to the table, Professor Tremens following closely behind and approached Eileen with a gentle smile. “I’m sorry I ran off like that,” I said as comfortingly as I could manage. “This is Professor Tremens. She is the head of our house, I thought she might be able to help.”

While I spoke, Professor Tremens quietly assessed the situation, looking over Miss O’Haver with an appraising eye before coming around to her side and wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “I’m so sorry, dear,” she said as she led Eileen over to a more quiet location. I didn’t hear anything else she said, but I did glance over from time to time while they spoke, and Eileen seemed to steadily improve in color and bearing.

The rest of the feast passed largely uneventfully, with much small talk. About half way through Eileen returned, still upset but in control of herself. She even ate a little, which I thought must surely be a good sign. I didn’t think I’d have any appetite if I was in her situation.

My first official duty as Prefect began as soon as the meal ended. As the headmaster dismissed the students to their respective dormitories, I stood up and worked to gather the new students of my house to me. “First years, please, can I have all first years and new students over here please,” I tried to speak loudly, unable to escape how unnatural it felt. Some small part of my brain tried to figure out if I’d ever had to speak loudly before for any reason. “First years, please gather, thank you!” I beamed as one girl, Galatea, came up to me hesitantly, followed a moment later by Eileen and Celestine.

“Welcome to Hogwarts,” I said with a great deal more confidence than I felt. “My name is Delia Prince, and I am in my third year and your Prefect. This means that if you have any questions, ask me and I’ll help, if you need anything, ask me and I’ll help, if you break any school rules and I catch you, you’ll be in trouble.” I smiled, hoping that had come off sounding like a joke.

“I am Celestine,” said Celestine with a smile. She was older than me and she spoke with a crisp French accent. “I am a transfer student from Beauxbaton. Can you tell me, where would I find information about other refugees – my parents, my brother, they are still missing, I have not been able to find them.”

I seemed to be having a great deal of luck finding situations I could not help with at all. “I suggest you speak to Professor Tremens,” I replied with a smile, “I do not have any knowledge that would help. I’m sorry that I can’t do more.”

“No, no, it is alright, thank you,” she said with a smile tinged with sadness and fear. I pointed towards the professor, and she moved in that direction.

“Anything else I can help you with as…” but before I could finish asking about further questions, there was a tap on my shoulder. I turned around, and right behind me, was Professor Lestrange. I was always nervous around the Transfiguration’s teacher, for she was the head of Slytherin house and she was always very strict. “Yes, professor?” I asked as innocuously as I could.

“I need to speak with you, Miss Prince,” Professor Lestrange said in a clipped voice.

“Yes, yes, of course,” I looked around quickly, and noticed that Lycia Gringott had not left yet. “Lycia, can you please stay with the first years while I speak with Professor Lestrange?”

Looking startled, Lycia came to stand next to me, nodding. “I suppose,” she replied absently, her coin twirling between her fingers idly.

“Thank you,” I smiled and turned towards Professor Lestrange, who lead me aside. “What can I help you with, Professor?”

“Miss Prince, who is the Quidditch Captain for your house?” snapped the professor without any preamble.

“Professor?”

“The Quidditch Captain. Who is in charge of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team this year?”

A vaguely unsettling feeling settled into the pit of my stomach as I sorted through the students who I had seen at the Ravenclaw table that night. Now that I considered it, I was the only member of the team who still appeared to be at the school. Not all of the students on the team had been in their last year of studies, either, so I couldn’t imagine where they had gone. I combed my memories. I pictured where I had seen people sitting and tried to remember if I had seen Robert, Millicent, Henrietta, or Luke, the other team members who hadn’t graduated. I could think of nothing. “Professor, I don’t know. I, uh, I think that I might be the only member of the Quidditch team still at the school.”

“I see,” Lestrange said without the least sympathy. “Then you are Captain of the team. Tryouts are tomorrow. I suggest you find people who are interested in playing Quidditch.” With a cold smile, Professor Lestrange turned and left without even saying goodbye. All I could do was stare at her in slight shock, the words ‘captain’ and ‘Quidditch’ echoing hollowly in my head.

Shaking my head in wonder at the now reinforced forcible termination of my chosen seclusion, I return to the waiting new students. Celestine had returned, and as I approached she, Eileen and Galatea were talking quietly with Lycia.

“I’m very sorry about that,” I interjected into a lull in the conversation as I returned. “As I was saying, if you need anything at all, please let me know. I’d be happy to fill you in on any rules, events, or what have you. If I don’t know the answer, I’ll go look it up or direct you to someone who can help. Also, if any of you play Quidditch…” I looked around hopefully, but this comment elicited no particular emotional response, and I worked to contain a disappointed sigh. “...tryouts for the house team will be tomorrow afternoon. If you are interested, report to the Quidditch pitch, and we can talk about how that will work.”

With that, I led the students to the Ravenclaw dormitory, where I showed them where they would be sleeping, answered the random questions that came my way, and all around probably spoke more in that one evening than I had outside of class in almost my entire time at Hogwarts .


	3. Daring the Dungeons

The next day dawned clear and bright, and I realized with a peculiar shock that I was actually excited about the tryouts. Though I feared an unenthusiastic turnout, I enjoyed playing Quidditch personally, and hoped that I might be able to put together at least a serviceable team. In all honesty, I fielded little to no hope of being able to construct a team with any chance of actually winning. That said, I did hold out hope that at least we could get out on the field, have some fun, maybe score at least a few points. I held out hope that we could avoid utter humiliation.

When I arrived at the Quidditch pitch about an hour before the tryouts were set to begin, there was no else there but Professor Lestrange. I never did figure out why it was that the Professor was in charge of affairs related to Quidditch. As far as I could tell, she hated Quidditch. Ultimately, I concluded that her interest derived from the simple fact that house points could be gained from playing, which meant it was important to put her house in as favorable a position as she could.

Over the course of the next hour, I watched the other captains arrive, followed by players from the various houses, carrying broomsticks, all looking nervous and hopeful. As players from each house arrived, a hubbub of conversation began to develop as the captains worked to assess the interests and skill of all of the potential players to what extent they could without actually watching them fly. At least, that was what the captains from Hufflepuff, Slytherin, and Gryffindor were doing. I, on the other hand, was doing nothing, because not a single Ravenclaw had come. As the hour of the start approached, I was starting to feel sick, terribly worried that, rather than avoiding humiliation for Ravenclaw, I was about to see it heaped on in large quantities.

Realizing, perhaps, the predicament I was in, Professor Lestrange approached me about 5 minutes before the start of the flying test. “Miss Prince,” she said smugly, her nose slightly turned up in my face, “I see that no one from Ravenclaw has chosen to attend this event.”

“Yes, Professor,” I lamented quietly. “I don’t really know what to do.”

“Miss Prince, Ravenclaw must field a team. You will go now into the school and round up whoever you can, and they will tryout. Even if you can find no one suitable, you will name people to the positions. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Professor,” and, nodding to herself, Professor Lestrange moved over to the other captains to fill them in on the details of the upcoming tryouts. Putting my things aside, I hurried to the school, hoping against hope that I could scare up someone to come fly. I couldn’t decide for the life of me which would be more embarrassing – to have nobody try out at all, or to have the people I could find make a pathetic showing. In my heart, I couldn’t escape the feeling that both would be mortifying in their own way. While I didn’t care for my own sake, I felt terrible that whichever poor students I could find would be forced to fly regardless of their skills, desires, or other constraints. 

I arrived in the Ravenclaw common room only a few moments later, for I walked fast, determined not to earn the wrath of Professor Lestrange. To my dismay, a search around the entire Ravenclaw dormitory revealed few students. I approached Lycia first and convinced her to try out only by promising that there was not the least chance that she’d actually be on the team, but that she needed to try out to help defend the reputation of our house. After that, I approached Celestine, who also had no particular interest in flying but seemed to take an “I’ll try anything” sort of attitude. I felt certain in my heart that I needed to convince enough students to participate in the try outs to at least fill a team which, counting me, meant that I need a total of 5 more. Any less than that, and it would be clear to everyone that Ravenclaw would not be fielding a Quidditch team this year, and I couldn’t allow that. After all, I was Quidditch captain! Reluctantly, I approached Eileen, for while I didn’t want to impose on her grief, it seemed necessary, for almost no one else was around. She too proved easy to convince, though. In retrospect, I imagine that she was trying to take her mind of off things. I sent the three of them off and went to see if I could find anyone else to come to tryouts. Towards this end, I literally ran to the library, and was very relieved to find several more Ravenclaw’s sitting and studying, and, with promises of study aid, potions, and other bribes I convinced them that trying out for Quidditch was a fun way to spend an afternoon. It’s odd what seemed important at such times.

Despite my efforts, the less said about the Quidditch try outs the better. It was obvious to anyone who watched my reluctant potential teammates that there was little enthusiasm to be had. Nobody performed absolutely abysmally, but no one achieved a minimum of competence, either. Never in my life have I wished that the try outs where in private so much as I did that day. Of course, the worst part was still to come, for there was no way I could name players from my scant turnout. Celestine stayed on with us as a beater, but in truth the rest of the team isn’t really worth mentioning. Simply put, I was most pleased when I learned, later in the school term, that a large part of the Quidditch season had been cancelled due to circumstances that I’ll get to in time.

I left the Quidditch tryouts determined to put them behind me. I couldn’t control, obviously, who was qualified for Quidditch in my house, whereas I could control my own work and study. Classes began that day, and I had to complete all of my school work in addition to all of my prefect duties. Thus, after try outs, I spent several hours preparing for Advanced Potions. Due to my experience and skill in that area, I had obtained special permission to take the class a year early, and determination to prove myself worthy of this privilege spurred me to work especially hard. Considering, also, that the closer I came to the end of my time at Hogwarts the more important it became that I gain competence in my other subjects, I found myself in desperate need of more hours in the day with which to study. 

Towards that end, I sat down comfortably in an arm chair before the fire and was there for many, many hours. I left only briefly to go to dinner. As the hour grew later and the fire died low, more and more students went up to bed. Eventually, only myself, Lycia, Galatea, Celestine and Eileen were left. The others were talking quietly, and, putting my book down, I went and joined them.

For a little while, we spoke of nothing of substance, on matters of school rules and classes and other such things. We were just finishing when we were all shocked by the approach of the Grey Lady. The ghost of Ravenclaw house, the Lady was generally reclusive and not given to visits to the common room, or to frequent discussion with the students. Yet now she floated up to us and joined our circle without any hesitation.

“You must listen,” she said in a hollow, ethereal voice. “You must stop him!”

With those simple words, she gained our rapt attention.

“The Headmaster…in the dungeons, he has a laboratory. In that laboratory, he conducts experiments, terrible experiments, forbidden experiments. You must stop him!”

I was instantly doubtful. “The Headmaster wouldn’t do something like that,” I said confidently. 

“He seeks to fight the war in the wrong ways, in forbidden ways. He delves into arts best left untouched! He has a book, a horrible, awful book, I cannot approach it, it sits open on a dais, and he reads from it, but when he senses me approaching he stops. I cannot stop him. You must stop him.”

Disdain crept through my being. Normally, I trusted the ghosts, but I had worked with the Headmaster and I trusted him, and I knew he would not delve into forbidden areas. While I was familiar with the complaints that my fellow students with him, I also had a great deal of respect for his many accomplishments. Before I could object again, though, Lycia spoke. “A book, an evil book?” she sounded intrigued. “What type of evil?”

“It is a book of necromancy, the Headmaster seeks to raise the dead to fight for England in the war against Germany. You must stop him. It is forbidden! You must take the book from him.”

“And where is the book?” Lycia asked, a quiet urgency evident in her voice.

“In the dungeon, in the deepest darkest part of the dungeon. You must stop him!”

Thinking to myself how repetitious this all was, and what a terrible idea it all was, still I refrained from commenting. I had no desire to offend the ghost, as long as we didn’t end up doing anything so foolish as actually embarking on a trip to the dungeon.

“You must stop him! I cannot stay longer. Stop him!” Her words echoing in our ears, throughout the common room, she faded dramatically from view, and I suppressed an exasperated sigh.

The disappearance of the Gray Lady was followed by several moments of intense, encompassing silence. Looking around at my companions, I couldn’t help but notice some things that worried me greatly. Lycia had a glow to her eyes, an eagerness that I don’t think I’d ever seen in her before. Celestine, on the other hand, look thoroughly distressed, while Eileen and Galatea didn’t seem to know what to think. Wondering how I must look, I started mentally preparing the list of reasons that going down into the dungeon in the middle of the night on our second day of classes was an absolutely terrible idea that should not under any circumstances be undertaken.

“So…what do we do?” Celestine asked finally, her accent heavier than normal due to a slight nervous undertone.

“You heard the ghost,” Lycia said, starting to stand. “We go down to the dungeon and take this book.” I think, up to that time, it was the most words I’d ever heard her say at once.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I interjected, trying to sound confident and in control. “The ghosts, after all, are not the most reliable of information sources – she said herself that she cannot get close to the book, cannot turn the pages, and that the headmaster drives her away whenever he is actually down there working. For all we know, she has completely misinterpreted the situation.” I paused, and then added firmly. “I don’t think Headmaster Nigellus would do the things she has claimed he is doing.”

“But…if he is, someone needs to stop him, right?” Eileen spoke up timidly. 

Nodding in agreement, Celestine added, “good people cannot allow such things to happen.”

Nodding also, though for drastically different reasons, I resolved to be done with the matter. “If you all feel that you must go, then go, and I will not report you. Nor, however, will I aid you. I do not think it’s a good idea. I think the dungeon is dangerous, I think the Headmaster is innocent. Students who are caught out of their dormitories this late at night will be severely punished. The groundskeeper went out of his way to describe some of his new dungeon devices to the prefects.”

To this day, I cannot give any adequate explanation of how, less than an hour later, I found myself in the dungeon along with Celestine, Lycia, a second year whose name now eludes me, and the Lunari twins. It is one of the bizarre twists that happen sometimes, I suppose. First, I strictly forbade Eileen and Galatea from accompanying us, and, with mild protestations, I hustled them off to bed. The dungeon was no place for first years. While I was taking care of that, Lycia and Celestine conferred quietly and when I returned they had a plan for their approach. They had been joined by the second year, and by a boy, Dmitri, I did not know well, who seemed very enthusiastic about the adventure. Listening to their plan, it occurred to me that if the two of them went down there alone and something caused them not to return, I would never forgive myself. While I am not, I suppose, a person who cares deeply for others, still I was already coming to feel a great deal of responsibility for the well being of my house mates. My duties as prefect made it my duty to help to protect them, I remember reasoning, ignoring the obvious fact that they were both my equal or better in terms of years of study, and so I must risk my own safety and accompany them. It was, looking back, very hollow reasoning, yet I believed it as firmly as I believed that going to the dungeon was the worst idea I had heard in some time. On the way down, we encountered the twins standing near the door – part of me still believes that they were waiting for us – and soon we found ourselves standing before the broad, heavy, iron-bound door that opened at the base of the long, dark, dank stair case that led down into the depths of the catacombs beneath Hogwarts Castle.

The door pushed in on old, creaky hinges to reveal a long corridor At rare intervals along its length torches sputtered in the stale air, but the darkness seemed to oppress the light, and the pools were dim and surrounded by dark stretches. One by one we stepped through, and we closed the door behind us. For several long moments we just stood there, none sure what we should do next.

Finally, we walked down the corridor for a ways, until we came to a place where it opened out into a room, beyond which the corridor continued on. A faint light suffused the room, and there were two boys in their late teens chained to one of the walls. One of them, a smart looking fellow, was grinning at us. One of his arms hung free from the chains, while the other was bound over his head. The other boy looked like his face was locked in a permanent sneer, and he didn’t acknowledge us at all.

“You should be more careful, ya know,” said the boy who was smiling in a thick lower-class accent. “Groundskeeper’s just down that way a bit, he’ll see ya if yer not more careful.”

“What do you suggest?” asked one of the Lunari twins in a practical tone of voice.

“Well, as to that,” replied the boy lasciviously, “I think it’s better to ask what you can do for me.”

Shaking my head slightly, I moved a little farther down to the hall to keep a look out for the groundskeeper. I had the feeling that this was going to be a long conversation.

“Hmm,” replied the other Lunari. “Good point. Well, what sorts of things do you want?”

“I’m sure we could get you out of here,” added the Lunari One. One of these years, I will learn how to tell Maya and Aya apart, but until then I’ve always found it easier just to refer to them numerically in the order I start thinking about them – thus, the Lunari who spoke first is Lunari One, in my mind, and the other is Lunari Two. Thus, I avoid confusion, at least within the context of individual conversations. There is little danger of my saying something to one twin, and later finding myself conversing with the other and referencing the prior conversation unawares, for they were inseparable. I’ve never actually spoken to them of this, but they’ve never seemed to mind that I never call them individually by name.

“Naw, nothin’ doin’, I could get out if that was what I wanted,” relied the boy on the wall. “What brings you fine young lasses – and lad – down here this day? It’s a little late for students to be out of bed, don’t ya know.” He paused.

“We should call the groundskeeper,” said the other imprisoned boy in a weak voice.

The first boy laughed. “Aren’t you a right fool, Farsy. That’s what’s got you put down here ,ain’t it. You keep your mouth shut, you Slytherin bastard, and leave this to me.” The other boy, Farsy, started to protest, but gave up.

“You’re a Slytherin?” asked Lunari Two. curiously. “How come I’ve never seen you around before? I thought I knew most of the older students. are you new?”

“Pay him no mind,” said the first boy, while Farsy remained sullenly quiet. “He’s been down here a full 8 months, he’s got nothin’ of any interest to say at this point.”

“8 months?” exclaimed Celestine, horrified. “How long have you been down here?”

“Me?” he paused pensively. “You know, I haven’t right thought about that in some time now…I suppose it’d have to be, oh I’m not even sure, maybe a little over a year. I’ve still got about that long to go, though,” he added as if he was proud of how much longer he’d be chained to that wall.

None of us quite know how to reply to this and several moments of silence followed his announcement. Lunari One – at least I think it was Lunari One, there had been some moving around so I could no longer be quite sure – broke the silence. “What’d you do?” she asked, utterly incredulous.

“Now, now, that doesn’t matter none,” his voice rolled slightly with an unvoiced laugh. “Still, it occurs to me, this whole conversation has been right uncivil, for you ladies haven’t introduced yourselves to me yet,” he paused, and then added as an afterthought, “and neither have the gentlemen.”

One by one we all introduced ourselves, and when we were done, he smiled and nodded. “Very good. I’m Zonks.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Zonks,” said the Lunari who was currently claiming to be Maya.

“The pleasure is all mine,” Zonks’ tone was roguish as he eyed the Lunari twins. “I was a Gryffindor too, always a pleasure. I’ve graduated, some time ago now…I really must say I’m looking forward to leaving, though it’s a nice enough place for a dungeon, I suppose. Anyway, as I was saying, if you want my help you’ll have to give me something to make it worth my while.” He eyed the twins suggestively.

The Lunari twins exchanged an extended glance, shrugged, and walked up to him and each kissed one side of his face. Zonks made the strangest sort of sighing sound, and was silent as the twins stepped back. “That…was good, but not quite good enough,” he gave a look to the other girls in the room, which they all seemed to be pointedly ignoring – certainly, I wasn’t interested in kissing him. He was cute in a roguish sort of way, but I had always seen relationships in a rather clinical and detached fashion. I’m fairly convinced this is due to the fact that, as the daughter of pure bloods, my future was never in my own hands, and it was inevitable that my parents would select my future husband and that would be that. It was my sole hope that I could pick someone suitable and convince them it was a reasonable match before they tied me to someone truly awful. Of course, what suitable truly meant to me was “not Slytherin” and “pure-blood.” Unfortunately, this has never been the most common combination – I could only think of one qualified man at Hogwarts while I was a student, for the head boy Marcus was pure blood, older than me (another necessary requirement), and Hufflepuff. I despaired of finding someone to marry me before my parents arranged things to their liking.

Still, if it was love – or, at least, some physical manifestation of love, such as kisses – that Zonks wanted, I had something that could help. I had brought a stash of potions with me to the dungeon, certain that I would need some of them before the end of the night, and though I hadn’t expected to need the particular potion I was reaching for now, I was most glad I had brought it. Listening to Zonks talk to the girls, I had been reminded that a new store had opened, a “Zonko’s Joke Shop,” which I had high hopes of selling potions to. If this Zonks was in any way related to those who had opened the shop, giving him a potion would help to bring me to their attention, and I had a potion I was pretty sure he would like.

Ignoring the slightly startled looks of the others, I approached Zonks and whispered softly in his hear. “I’m not going to give you a kiss,” I said, my voice a little tight with my effort to keep it soft, “but I have a potion you might like.” Zonks looked at me, a question in his eyes, and I smiled. “It’s a love potion,” I glanced slightly at the Lunari twins. “Is that something would satisfy your demands?” I slipped the potion into the pocket of his jacket.

Nodding, Zonks grinned foolishly. “Done and done,” he said loudly enough for everyone to hear. “Right-o, there is a set of keys in my left shoe, feel free to take them.”

We all stared for a moment. I wish I knew how the boy Zonks, chained to the wall, had managed to get a set of keys to the dungeon into his left shoe. None of us asked, however, and so we never did learn. We took the keys and left, the Lunari’s promising to visit again shortly.

Hurrying along quickly lest the groundskeeper be attracted by the conversation, we crept along the dark hallway. It was difficult to move silently, for many of the rocks were slick with water, making the footing treacherous, and other stones shifted inexplicable under the foot. The walls were slimy with some sort of growth – I told myself with shaky confidence that it was algae – and it was relief when we reached the door at the end of the long hallway, light glowing slightly from underneath it.

The key had been entrusted to my care, and I placed it in the lock nervously. The light coming from under the door spoke of a room more commonly used than the sporadically lit hallway, and some part of me was convinced that we would open the door and be face to face with…well, I wasn’t sure who we would be face to face with, but it wouldn’t be a good thing, of that I was certain. Yet still I turned the key, a shivering rasping sound coming from its ancient and rusted workings, and pushed the door open.

No one was there to greet us. However, it was still a most strange room. A long dark wooden table sat in the middle of the room, covered in a white dust that swirled slightly at the slightest breeze. Plush, exotic carpets covered the floor, and magical devices of all sorts lined the bureaus around the edges of the room and covered the walls. In one corner, the door of a bureau stood ajar, revealing the slight glint of glass, and next to the bureau was a box with a frog on top of it. As we entered, all of us filtered through the room, moving towards the thing that interested us the most.

I was instantly caught by the suggestive contents of the bureau and moved to it hurriedly. Opening the door, I gasped as I beheld the contents, oblivious to everything else in the room. Within were more bottles of potion ingredients then I had ever seen before. As I scanned the contents with wide eyes, I saw everything from the common pixie dust and doxie droppings, which I quickly dismissed, to the truly fantastic: dragons blood and phoenix feathers and other magnificent things. Never have I been more tempted by anything than I was by the contents of that wonderful bureau. Before I could convince myself it was folly, I glanced around to make sure the others weren’t looking and sneaked the tall bottle containing the phoenix feathers into my robes.

Several moments passed then in silent battle. I wanted the feathers so badly. I wanted the dragons blood, and the unicorn horn, and the little red pellets I couldn’t even identify, I wanted to take every bottle in the closet. However, the part of my mind that thought ‘coming down to the dungeon is a bad idea’ and ‘following the rules is important’ was screaming at me. Potion ingredients like this are very expensive. Someone uses these. Someone will notice if they are gone. Someone will know spells that can identify the thief. Someone will find out that we were down here, and then someone will certainly expel us. Within moments I had convinced myself that no matter how much I wanted them, I simply could not take the risk that stealing the ingredients entailed and so, marshalling all of my willpower, I heaved a great sigh and slipped the coveted phoenix feathers back into the spot where they belonged. I forced myself to close the door to the bureau. I forced myself to turn to the others.

Much had happened in the room while I had been fighting my personal battle. The Lunari’s each lay slumped in chairs by the long table, clearly asleep or unconscious, before a spot where the dust on the table had been wiped away. There was dust on both girls robes, and I realized that despite the recent introductions to Zonks, I had them hopelessly confused again. No one else seemed distressed by their inactivity, though. The second year was watching me, a curious expression on his face, Dmitri eyed the twins mischievously, while Lycia examined an intricate mirror that stood on one wall. Celestine stood next to me, intent on the frog.

“Delia,” she sounded distressed, “we must help this poor frog. Look at its feet!” She gestured and Lycia came over and looked also. Horribly, the feet of the frog had been nailed firmly to the top of the box.

Feeling slightly sickened, I shook my head. “It’s terrible,” I said, “but we must try not to interfere with the things that are here. The owner will notice if we make a ruckus or a mess.” In the background, Dmitri was tying the Lunari twins’ scarves together, grinning broadly. The second year had moved closer to the potions cabinet.

“But this is terrible,” Celestine implored, her voice tremulous through her accent “please, do you have a shrinking potion or some other means of freeing it? We cannot leave it here, it is in such terrible pain.” As I watched, what appeared to be moist tears streamed from the frog’s eyes.

I started to explain again why we mustn’t take anything from the room when I looked over towards the bureau once more and did a double take. Leaving Celestine to the problem of the frog – she was shaking her head, and saying to herself that a shrinking potion would only cause the nails through its feet to rip it apart – I walked over and violently pulled the second year away from the open cabinet. “Did you take anything?”

Shocked by my rough approach, he shook his head. “No,” he stammered, “no, I didn’t take a thing.” I frowned, looking him up and down. He wasn’t wearing a robe and appeared to have no place on his person to hide anything. He held his hands out for me to see, stepping back from the bureau. “See? Not a thing.”

Someone had taken something, though. In my entranced examination of the bureau contents, I had lovingly noted the location of everything, dreaming of someday have a collection of reagents that would equal this one. Now, a bottle that stood, separated from the others, near the front, was gone. It had contained pink pellets that I did not recognize. Perplexed, I looked around for a moment to make sure it had not simply been moved. I turned away, trying to think if anyone else had approached the cabinet. When I turned back, I gasped in shock. Another bottle was missing, this one the one that had contained the red pellets I had been intrigued by. “There’s someone else here!” I exclaimed. Only someone invisible could have stood beside me and taken the bottle. I reached out quickly in front me, but there was nothing but air. I moved forward into the room, and the second year and Dmitri trailed in my wake, curious.

“What do you mean?” asked Dmitri.

“Someone has taken some of the ingredients,” I replied. I looked back at the cabinet and the bottle of dragon’s blood was gone. With an annoyed grunt, I went back to the cabinet and closed it forcible. Inside, bottles rattled against each other. 

“Do you think someone is invisible?” asked the second year

“I don’t know,” I answered, my voice tight with annoyance. Then I did a slight double take. “Dmitri,” I asked calmly, “didn’t you tie the twins scarves together?”

“Yeah I did,” he said, a laugh in his voice. “I figured, they’re always playing pranks on people, it’s only fitting that someone play a prank on them, right?”

“I suggest you check your work,” I grumbled, for the twins scarves now hung loose, no longer tied. The two girls stirred slightly, and Dmitri hurried over to tie them together again, giving me a thumbs up.

Meanwhile, behind me, Celestine and Lycia yet considered the frog. I don’t know how they did it, but they managed to get the poor thing free, and now it was huddling in Celestine’s arms while a raccoon, tucked into a pouch that Celestine always wore on her shoulder, sniffed at it curiously. Lycia opened the box and examined the contents. It was an iridescent round globe, like those used for scrying, except it had a milky tone and did not appear to be of much use at all.

“Well then, we should about be moving on,” said Lunari One with a grin. Next to her, her sister was very carefully gathering the dust on the table into a little bag.

“We shouldn’t take anything,” I said in despair, but no one was paying any attention. Fine, I thought to myself, when the owner of this room comes back and casts a spell to determine who the intruders were, hopefully my abstinence would be rewarded. Comforted by the thought that refraining from theft would protect me from punishment, I led the way from the room, followed by Lycia, the men, and, lagging behind, Celestine and the Lunari twins.

It was only a few minutes after that we heard a horrible crashing sound from behind us. “What was that?”

The Lunaris, bringing up the rear, called back, “not sure…” They sounded flustered. Then, a moment later, a giant lizard like head thrust itself into the hallway behind us. “Run!” screamed the twins, and we fled as the horrible sound of scales on stone pursued us.

“What is that thing?” I shrieked.

“I think…” Celestine was gasping for breath, her accent thick, “…that it’s a Basilisk.”

“Stupefy!” shouted Dmitri, but the spell didn’t phase the giant beast. All I could think was how I had known that this was a bad idea. How truly ineffective Dimitri’s spell stunned us all. 

Convinced it must have been a misfire, Lycia pulled out her wand. “Petrificus totalus!” she screamed, pointing the wand behind us. Once again, spell was unsuccessful. The basilisk was gaining on us with frightening speed, and, as I glanced behind me, I was convinced that Celestine was about to be over run.

Cursing silently in a most un-ladylike fashion, I reached into my robe and desperately flailed about in its folds for the potion that I needed. Though I worked hard to keep the potions I carried neatly organized, my task was made far more difficult for the way that the robes flapped and caught around me as I ran. Finally, huffing and puffing, I withdrew what I hoped was the right one and stopped running. The potion sloshed in its bottle as, in one smooth motion, I threw it straight into the beasts gaping maw. Please work, I thought imploringly, please, please work.

For a moment nothing happened, and I felt my terror build as the basilisk crashed closer to us. The spells failing could have been a mistake of casting, but I knew I had gotten the potion bottle cleanly into its mouth, had heard the bottle break, and yet the beast came on unperturbed. I started to run again, wondering how we could escape this terrible situation, when all of sudden the basilisk gave a weird noise and stopped moving. Looking behind me, I saw that it had momentarily been shocked into stillness by merit of the fact that it was roughly two-thirds of its old size. I shuddered at this, for the Shrinking Potion I had administered should have reduced it much more, yet I was pleased that it had a least done something. However, once the amazement of the creature wore of, it came after us once more, still more than large enough to pose a threat to us.

Running once more, out of breath, I looked at the others. They were to a one red in the face and panting, and the corridor continued endlessly before us. We had to do something, I knew, but I could not think what. “Magic...magic doesn’t seem to work,” Dmitri said despairingly. He had been trying, shooting spells behind him regularly, not a one effective.

“If…if magic doesn’t work,” I reasoned aloud, “then we must come up with a way to attack it physically.” Looking around, I assessed the situation. We carried no weapons and the corridor was bare. The corridor…the stones of the corridor, I thought to myself. “Someone collapse the tunnel,” I cried, hoping desperately that someone knew how to do such a thing.

The events of the next few moments happened dizzyingly fast. Someone, I think it was one of the Lunaris, shouted a spell, and there was a horrible crashing sound. The air filled with the sound of rock scraping on rock and ripping itself apart as the arch beneath which we had just run crashed in leaving naught but the head of the basilisk sticking out. It struggled horribly, and the Lunaris stood around it, bashing it about the head with large chunks of rock while it gnashed its teeth at them menacingly. Watching it, I thought that if it did not stop doing so it would surely break free, so I pulled a Nerve Calming potion from my collection and threw it down the beasts’ throat. Within moments it had ceased to writhe and twist, though as before it was not so sedate as I would have hoped. Around me, the others gasped for breath, expressions slowly calming as they recuperated. Hoping that the matter was settled, I turn to look before us.

Before us was a brightly lit cavern with many different passageways leading off of it. All of the caves led into darkness, and I shuddered to think how lost and alone we would have become if we had reached this point with the basilisk still in hot pursuit. Overhead was a high archway inscribed with deeply chiseled words.

We explored the chamber with uncertainty before anyone seemed to think that it would be worth while to examine the archway more carefully. While before, the passageways through which we moved were of brick and mortar, we now stood in a cavernous chamber with a number of narrow and uneven caves leading in all directions. There were about 6 caves in all, and though it would be inaccurate to say that they were of unworked stone, for the floors were fairly smooth and the caves passable, it would be fair to instead say that they were unfinished. I moved forward into the chamber, glancing at each cavern, wondering how we were to determine which was the one we should take to find the headmaster’s workshop.

Behind me, Dmitri began to read from the archway and it was quickly established that the words were a riddle. I thought that the answer to it would point us to correct caveway. I wasn’t sure how it would do this, for I had seen no means of distinguishing between the caves save for their order, but it seemed most logical to me. 

Though it pains me to admit this, since I generally consider myself an intelligent individual, puzzles and riddles are simply not my forte. Thus, for the most part my involvement in the actual solving of the riddles that we discovered was minimal. Furthermore, the many years that have passed since then have blurred the details of the content of the riddles that we encountered. I should note that this implies, inaccurately, that my accounts of other events are largely verbatim. Though this is not the case, the difference of a few words or phrases in a conversation is generally not of any moment, whereas the change of even single word in a carefully crafted riddle ruins all. As such, I find myself unable to adequately recount the content of the riddles that we encountered, though I will do my best to relate the events that occurred despite this limitation.

Fortunately, the talent I lacked was amply evident in Dmitri and the Lunari’s. The answer proved to be “doorway,” and we paused to see what, if anything, pronouncing the answer would do. Within moments, a door had appeared on a formerly blank wall, ancient in appearance, of blackened wood and bound with iron. For several moments, we all looked at it in deep consideration. Finally, I shrugged and pushed it open myself, deciding that, while many bad things could potentially happen, the first person to open the door would probably be in the most danger, and I would rather it be myself than any of the others. (Alas, were I always as self-sacrificing as that makes me sound!)

However, rather than being confronted by any sort of unspeakable horror, the door in fact concealed a warm and friendly room. The room was dome shaped and glowed softly with light from an unknown source. Several arm chairs and couches were placed in a circle around a table. There was an empty fireplace along one wall, and a book lay on the table. One by one we all came in, and tried to figure out how this room might relate to our current predicament.

“Has anyone seen my cat?” asked Lycia abruptly. “He has been with us all along, but now I do not see him anywhere.”

One of the Lunaris smirked, but none of us could say that we knew where the cat had gone. “I’m sorry, Lycia,” I said. “I’m sure he’ll be alright.” Silently, I couldn’t stop myself thinking that the vile beast would be better off lost.

I sat down at the couch facing the book and opened it, but my perusal of its pages proved short and uninteresting for the book was completely blank. I examined its other features thoroughly while the others searched other parts of the room, but I could find nothing at all interesting about. Frustrated, I set it down, and looked around at my companions.

“So what do we do now?” I asked. None could answer, however, for all were as unfamiliar with such a thing as I was. The solution was found without my involvement, as Celestine discovered a riddle inscribed over the mantle. The answer proved to be, unshockingly, fire, and soon all of us were looking at the empty fireplace.

“We need to start a fire,” said Celestine, summing up our situation.

Glancing around the room, I picked up a seat cushion from one of the couches. “This will burn,” I said, for there was no log in the fire place nor any wood to be seen. The others, however, seemed to feel that this was not a good solution to the problem and each started searching the room, each with their own preferred solution in mind. While no one was minding, though, Dmitri stood before the fireplace, and when I turned back from returning the couch cushion to its original location, I saw that he had managed to start a roaring blaze.

With a pop that drew all of our attentions, an hour glass appeared on the table before the book. The sand was a pure shade of white and began to fill the bottom sphere rapidly. On the top of the hourglass was written another riddle. By this point it had become clear to me that I was ill equipped to solve these riddles myself, but I listened with interest as the others worked over the peculiar wording. It was Dmitri who came up with the answer, though I cannot recall what it was, and the sand turned blue. I remember wondering if the hourglass knew or cared that he was of Ravenclaw, if that was the reason for the change, but I never found out. At the same moment that the sand changed color, another riddle appeared, this one around the middle of the hourglass, and still the sand ran rapidly. I worried what might happen if we were unable to solve the riddles before the sand ran out. The next, though, proved simple, pointing us to a page in the book on the table. No longer blank, one of the pages now contained yet another puzzle for us to tackle, and the sand in the hourglass ceased to run, much to my relief.

The puzzle directed us to a set of flagstones behind one of the couches, on which were inscribed four letters. Yet another riddle – one even I was able to solve, for it was of a type that I can easily understand, where they ask for things like “the beginning of end and the end of time.” Thus we examined the letters on the flagstones and, turning up the appropriate one, we discovered a most helpful map that showed our vicinity.

My relief was, to say the least, great. While the others had seemed intrigued and absorbed by the solving the riddles, I feared that we would solve them but that their end would not help with our goals. For example, it had occurred to me that solving them might magically transport us to some other location, either within Hogwarts or without. We might find ourselves a continent away, with no means of return at our disposal. Solving them might summon a beast, or reconfigure the passageways of the dungeon, or open up another secret room, or any number of other things, some good, some bad, but none of them helpful. My fears were not to be realized, for the map not only showed all the passageways hereabouts, it also had several helpful symbols on it. Our room was denoted by a special symbol, and there was an image of a snakehead where the basilisk lay fallen. Most useful of all was the elegant arrow that appeared to pointing us in the direction we needed to go. It is perhaps a sign of the folly of youth that none of us thought to question how it was that the map knew where we wished to go. We spent several moments returning everything in the little room to how it had been before our arrival and then we left to follow the course the map directed us on. The door vanished behind us as we left.

We followed many twisting and slippery caves over the next while, some rapidly descending deeper beneath the castle, others tending more upwards. They bent in all directions and interwove complexly. I am certain that had we attempted to find our way unaided, we would have required rescuing, but we were spared this indignity by the helpful, oh-so-trustworthy map.

After perhaps half an hour of walking, I became aware of a strange sound coming from a passageway we had just passed by. As I was not the one of us carrying the map, I had taken up the rear of the group, partly to make sure that nobody was left behind, and partly because I wasn’t certain I trusted any of the others to keep watch. I called for the group to halt and, noticing the look on Celestine’s face, I knew she had heard the sound as well. We moved closer to the entrance of the narrow cave we had passed and peered inside.

It was pitch black inside, and the map could offer no advice on what lay within. The sound was unmistakable. A girl was crying.

We walked down the dark cavern carefully, exchanging uncertain glances with each other. How could there be a person down here, all alone? Who were they? Where had they come from? Behind me, Lunari One and Celestine both whispered “lumos,” and the narrow passage was illuminated. The cave came to dead end only a few feet before us and there was no one there. On the ground before us there was an inexplicable inky blackness and the sound of the crying emanated from there. For several long moments, we eyed the blackness suspiciously. I feared – I imagine we all did – that it was some unknown monster. I quickly thought through every terrors I could recall from Care of Magical Creatures, but I could think of none that fit the description of “inky blackness that lives in caves and cries to attract attention.”

While I was still considering potential evil’s that this could be, Dmitri approached the hole. Bending down close, he spoke loudly, “hello?”

The crying broke off with a light sniffing sound. “Pellucid?” asked a broken girl’s voice. “Phineas? Is that you?” I did a slight double take, for I knew only one Phineas, our headmaster.

“No,” Dimitri replied, sounding as surprised as I felt.

“Are you alright?” asked Lycia, surprising me with her concern.

“I…I’m fine, but I fell into this hole and now I can’t get climb out of it,” answered the girl. I exchanged a concerned glance with Celestine, for the black ichor-like substance on the ground was certainly not a hole.

“Don’t worry,” Celestine said, sounding worried herself, “we’ll get you out!” At the same time, Dimitri reached his arm towards the blackness, only to withdraw his arm in shock as his hand glanced off it. Celestine glanced around the cave, looking for a solution, while the Lunaris spoke softly about spells they knew that might be of service. Dmitri stared at his hands, still vaguely puzzled by his inability to reach into the “hole.” I considered briefly before remembering that, while I didn’t have a rope, I did have something that would reach fairly far down into the hole. Removing my robes, I lowered it into the hole, bracing myself to pull up her weight. For whatever reason, where hand could not go, robes could, and the garment disappeared into the apparently solid substance. 

“Grab on,” I said, and grunted as she did so. Dmitri and Celestine grabbed a hold of my robes as well, and together we hauled the girl up with all of our strength. 

All we could do was stare in surprise. She was a pretty girl of perhaps 14 years, dressed in Ravenclaw colors and school robes. I had never seen her before and her clothing was distinctly old fashioned and out dated. When she spoke, our shock depended. “Have you found Pellucid and Phineas? Are they alright? They were down here with me, they said they had something to show me, but when I called out after falling they didn’t answer and I’ve feared the worst. It’s been about a week, I think, they must be here somewhere.” Not giving us a chance to reply, she moved slightly towards the mouth of the cave. “Phineas?” she shouted. “Pellucid?” Her voice echoed through the sprawling cave system, but there was no answer.

Taking a deep breath, I put a hand on the girls shoulder. “Calm down,” I said, trying to sound calm myself. “My name is Delia, Delia Prince. What is your name? The names of your companions? If they are missing, we’ll help you look for them.” After all, I told myself, there could be a different Phineas who has been at Hogwarts. That couldn’t explain away the fact that she was a Ravenclaw who I had never seen before, though.

“Oh, I’m sorry, how rude of me,” she said, clearly distraught, turning around again to face us. “I’m Elaina Sly, and I came down here with Pellucid Nox and Phineas Nigellus. I’m in Ravenclaw, and they’re in Slytherin, and I know that’s weird, but Phineas is my cousin so it’s alright.” 

Even expecting it as I was, I was still shocked. This girl, Elaina, had gone to school with Headmaster Nigellus. She’d been stuck down here all this time. That must have been 40 years ago. Everyone else was clearly as dumbstruck, for after a moment Elaina said, “Have I said something wrong? Have you seen Phineas?” She paused, though, and seemed to really look at us for the first time. She fingered my Ravenclaw scarf. “You…are a Ravenclaw? I don’t think that I’ve seen you before. And your clothing…” she looked me up and down, and seemed unable to find the words to continue.

“Elaina,” asked Lycia, “what year do you think it is?”

“Think it is?” her voice faltered. “Why, it’s 1872.” Her voice broke, though. “Isn’t it?”

Nodding, I put an arm around her shoulder, and waved to suggest that the others proceed. “Elaina, the current year is 1914,” I explained, trying to sound soothing. “I’m the prefect of Ravenclaw house, so please allow me to do my best to fill you in. I don’t know how you came to be in this place, but a great deal of time has passed.” From there, I explained to her the events of the last 40 years, concluding with the information that Phineas Nigellus was now headmaster – which surprised her greatly. I tried to explain things calmly and as gently as possible, but she was understandably upset.

Because I was busy speaking with Elaina, I was paying little attention to where we were going and thus I didn’t notice how much distance we covered until I heard voices coming from up ahead. In short order, we had entered a room filled with other students, students I recognized as being from Hufflepuff house. They were speaking to a painting that hung, incongruously, on one of the walls of the cavern. Seeing us, they started to move away almost immediately, towards a cavern that split from this room on our left. The Lunaris glanced at our map and then exclaimed, “Don’t go that way! There is a basilisk that way!” The Hufflepuff’s didn’t pause, though, and so the Lunari’s and my companions headed off in pursuit. I found myself more curious about the portrait on the wall and so approached it.

“What do you want?” the man in the painting asked brusquely.

“I thought I would say hello,” I replied. We spoke over the course of the next few minutes. He seemed most pleased that I sincerely wanted nothing from him, for apparently the Hufflepuffs had grilled him for information most thoroughly, and he had worked his hardest to avoid giving them answers. He was a contrary sort, and explained to me that he had been placed down here by Headmaster Nigellus firstly to guard the entrance to the deep dungeons (at this point, he pointed at a dark, still lake that lay on one end of the cavern) and secondly because the Headmaster felt he was most annoying. I offered to free him from the dungeon, but unfortunately the headmaster had enacted spells that made removing the portrait from the wall most impossible. It made sense, though, for the entrance to the deep dungeons was an important portal, I imagined, and thus it was important to see that it was guarded. To my great amusement, not seeking any information from the portrait actually garnered me a great deal. Not only did I learn of the deep dungeons, he also told me that down a third corridor that exited the room there was a locked door, a key, and something “interesting.” The portrait complained about the Headmaster quite a bit, about how he frequently came down here but rarely bothered to stop for even simple polite conversation, but he had such a poor attitude that I could easily see how the Headmaster would grow weary of its company.

After a little while, my companions returned. The Hufflepuffs weren’t with them. “Are they still going that way?” I asked, concerned.

The Lunaris shrugged. “As they will,” said One, “we tried to warn them. What they do now is their choice.”

“We should go that way,” added Lunari Two after glancing at the map for a moment, pointing down the corridor that the portrait had told me was “interesting.”

Shaking off my worry for the Hufflepuff students, I accompanied the others down the hallway until, as I had been warned, we came to an intricately carved and worked door with a keyhole in the center of it.

“Alohamora!” cried Lunari One with a flick of her wand, but the spell had no effect,

“Maybe it’s another riddle,” Celestine wondered, and she and Dimitri started to examine the door closely.

“Perhaps the key we already have would work,” I suggested.

A few minutes, though, were adequate to show that none of these were the correct solution. The door was pretty but seemed not to contain any hidden message, the key that we had was the wrong size, and no spell that we knew had any effect. We were starting to despair when we heard a sound behind us.

“What was that?” asked Celestine, sounding mildly distressed.

“We should go investigate,” said Dimitri, and started off that way.

Nodding, I added, “I’ll wait here. Perhaps I can find the secret of the door.” I remembered what the portrait had said about the key, and wondered if it might be hidden nearby.

“Are you sure?” asked Lycia, and, seeing me nod, she nodded back and left with the others.

Time passed slowly in the dark corridors. I searched the area around the door thoroughly, but found nothing. The voices of my friends echoed strangely through the caves, but they didn’t sound distressed so I wasn’t concerned. After I concluded my search, I stood and waited, thinking on all manner of topics, mostly my fears of what might be behind the door. What would I do, I asked myself, if we discovered proof against the headmaster? I was convinced in my heart that even if the headmaster had committed the crime he was accused of, he must have had a good reason.

After a while, I heard footsteps approaching, and Lycia turned a corner into my view. She stared at me, examined me closely for a moment, and I wondered at her scrutiny. Then she nodded slightly. “We need you,” she said without preamble.

“Alright,” I replied, a question in my voice. If she heard it, though, Lycia still offered no explanation.

It was a short walk to where the others were, clogging a small offshoot from the thoroughfare. They surrounded a small, ugly bird which sat in a bristly nest full of things that gleamed in the faint light. When I came in, the bird squawked.

“Offer it something shiny,” Dmitri sounded strangely frantic.

Puzzled, I took off one of the rings I wore and proffered it in the bird’s direction. It examined it for a moment and snatched the ring from my hand. Routing around in its nest, it passed me a conch shell from which the sound of the ocean came faintly. Behind me, Celestine groaned.

Insistent, I forced the bird to take the conch back. In return, it passed me a simple silver bracelet. “That’s mine,” Dmitri commented unhappily, taking it back.

“I’m not going to get my ring back, am I?” I asked, feeling vaguely disgruntled.

The others shifted uncomfortably, and Lethe said defensively, “it has the key, though.” He pointed to what did look like a key, tucked into a niche of the nest.

With a sigh, I removed my other ring. Excited, the bird shoved the key at me, and I took it.

“We have the key,” I glared at the bird, “but I want my rings back.” I had far too little money to lose good silver to a bird, I thought darkly.

It took several minutes of bartering before we managed to get my rings from the contrary creature. It cost Dmitri his bracelet (again) and Lycia a golden coin, though she received a rather shiny set of crafting tools and didn’t seem unhappy with the trade. The bird seemed to realize that it had not come out ahead and upon returning my second ring it clucked at us in irritation, and flapped its wings at us. We left without troubling it further.

I worked to contain my feeling of fear as we approached the door. I didn’t want to believe that the Headmaster had done the things he was accused of. He was a good wizard, he’d never delve into such dark arts. If he did explore necromancy, it was surely for a good reason. But he’d never have done it. The Headmaster wouldn’t do that. Inserting the key into the hole on the door, I turned it and heard the locks click and the door creaked open.

Collectively, we gasped at what lay within. Whatever we might have been expecting, it certainly wasn’t what we found. A huge circular room, the walls were completely lined with bookshelves twenty feet high or more, and books occupied every space, every surface, except for a lone place on the wall where there was a fireplace. A large fire burned happily, shedding a warm and welcoming light.

For sometime after that we lost ourselves to exploring the shelves. I’d never seen anything so marvellous. There were books on all nature of topics, from mystical beasts to the ancient world, and everything in between. I even saw one, tucked away on a high shelf, that was about necromancy. I found myself drawn by the book labeled “Potions Wondrous and Rare” in an ancient, pealing gold leaf. Pulling it down, I started to read as fast as I could, for the hour was late and I felt sure that our time here was greatly limited. This book could not leave this room, I felt, so I had best read as much of it as I could before going leaving.

All too soon my suspicions proved correct. I had just finished reading about the use of salamander blood in the creation of freezing potions and heat resistant creams when we heard footsteps echoing down the hallway we had arrived via. Simultaneously, the fireplace behind us began to creak and rumble and move, revealing a secret passage. Exchanging glances with the others, we moved quickly, abandoning our reading and entering the revealed passage, not questioning our luck at having found such a convenient escape. As the fireplace closed behind us, I caught a glimpse of the Headmaster entering the room. My relief was great, for if this were truly where he came when visiting the dungeon, then he was not conducting any necromantic experiments. There had, after all, been no equipment conducive to such activities in the library. Surely, I told myself with cheery confidence, the headmaster merely hid his personal library – a wise course, for books, especially old, rare, valuable books.

Thus were ended our fruitless adventures. The secret passage led after some time to a door way hidden behind a painting near the Great Hall. After we exited, it proved impossible to gain admittance again, and I hid my regret that my means of access to that library was cut off. Still, I reminded myself that it was the Headmaster’s, his to hide as he would. I contented myself in remembering my duties as Prefect, leading my housemates back to the Ravenclaw common room. What mischief the Lunaris went on to perpetrate that night are anybody’s guess.


	4. Breaking and Entering

I feel I should pause here, for it occurs to me that at no point have I given any sort of physical description of myself. Forgive me if I take a few words to correct this oversight.

I won’t pretend to any sort of modesty. There was no denying that I was a rather attractive girl. My hair was brown, rather long, and very straight. I frequently used my wand to secure my hair into a loose bun, for I rarely used it for any form of spell casting. My eyes were brown as well, and my features were delicate. A little tall for my age, I stood a over five and a half feet and I was quite slim. I do not know for certain, for it is most difficult to judge one’s own appearance, but I suspect I looked fairly breakable, like a stiff wind might damage me in some fashion. I like to think I was considerably tougher than that would suggest.

Proceeding, then, with my narrative, the next few weeks of class passed rapidly, with few happenings. The only event of note that I recall was actually rather unfortunate. A few days after our escapades in the dungeon, Maya Lunari – or perhaps it was Aya – was found turned to stone in Gryffindor common room. I could not help but wonder if this was in some fashion connected to the existence of basilisk, but I never did learn for certain either way.

The student body was abuzz with all sorts of gossip. Many whispered about student exploits in the dungeons, though most of what was said was wildly inaccurate. If popular accounts were to be believed, then the intrepid explorers had defeated at least a dozen basilisks, a host of zombies, any number of giants (no one could say why giants, known for their love of mountains, would frequent the dungeons) and, most fearfully and bravely of all, the groundskeeper himself. For the most part, I ignored the drivel that was being spouted.

Of far more interest to me were the rumors about the first Wizard Armed Patrol mission, which had apparently taken place the same night as our dungeon delving. Many of the accounts were obviously greatly sensationalized – I couldn’t credit the account that stated that three students, however competent, could have defeated an army of werewolves and returned unscathed. There were common features to the accounts that I supposed must be trustworthy. Guillermo Patil, Caius Serence and Marcus Relius had left Hogwarts and apparated – or flown, reports conflicted – to France. What exactly they had done there was completely incomprehensible, but they had definitely been attacked by something and furthermore they had rescued at least one person, possibly many more. Indeed, one of the rescued individual now sat at the Hufflepuff table, a girl named Katrina LaGuar.

I disliked Katrina on sight. A former Beauxbaton student, oddly Celestine couldn’t recall her, which I found upsetting for she was, if nothing else, extremely memorable. She was stunningly, inhumanly beautiful, with flowing silver-blonde hair, a statuesque figure, and an absolutely astonishing complexion. Being around her made me feel gangling and awkward, a feeling I intensely disliked. Moreover, every boy in her vicinity spontaneously became incredibly stupid. Most would pause in whatever they were saying to simply stare at her, their mouths agape, or stare at her mesmerized even as they attempted to proceed with whatever they had been doing. This generally resulted in a large number of forks missing mouths and spilling food on the faces of the distracted boys. All in all, I found it infuriating, for I tended to think that boys were creatures of intelligence just as much as girls were, and it seemed incomprehensible to me that they could so take leave of their wits. 

Katrina had no interest in the boys that gawked at her awkwardly. Instead, she would regale anyone who would listen with the tale of her rescue. Most daringly, Caius and Guillermo had come for her, and most wonderfully they had saved her from evil most foul. However, it was not they that she eyed with a slightly predatory glance. As she told her story, she would speak of “noble Marcus,” who had impressed her greatly, for he had gone alone into the depths of the dungeon to rescue a group of small children who had been imprisoned there. This self-sacrifice had won him a special place in her thoughts, and she watched him frequently as he went about his duties. Listening to her tell her story again and again, I was rapidly convinced that the majority of the more ridiculous stories about the WAP mission could be traced directly to her.

Still, I had more to do over those weeks than watch Katrina LaGuar. Classes were strenuous in our OWL year. Headmaster Nigellus transferred the duties of teaching lower classmen potions to Professor Lestrange so that he could more fully devote himself to his advanced class. This proved fortuitous for me, there were only two students in the advanced class, and so myself and “noble” Marcus Relius received a great deal of personal aid and attention from the Headmaster. 

I feel that, given his later importance in my narrative, I should convey something of my first impression of Marcus. I had seen him around school for my entire time at Hogwarts without paying him much mind. My first years at Hogwarts I had a low opinion of Hufflepuffs and tended to ignore them, so I didn’t formerly meet him until I became a prefect. I found him to be a remarkably nice person. He was not as skilled at potions as myself, but he was good natured and almost impossible to offend. I suspect this is why he was in the Headmaster’s potions class, for the Headmaster could be abrasive, but Marcus took all abuse with a smile. I also realized for the first time that he, like I, was a pure blood. Though we were practically strangers, I felt something of a kinship with him, for we were both pure blood’s outside of Slytherin, and we alone felt that Advanced Potions was a class worth taking. That said, I had never spoken to him except during class. It would be some days more before I would speak to him extensively for the first time.

My other classes interested me far less. Professor Potts seemed even more disconnected from reality than usual, and herbology was a daily exercise of willpower, for she paid us little mind and I could easily have pilfered many valuable potion ingredients with no one the wiser. The one time I gave in to this feeling, I regretted it immediately, for I was nearly turned into a fish. This, thankfully, did a fair amount to dissuade me of my larcenous feelings.

My other classes were even less interesting, for I was not turned to a fish in any of them. Professor Lestrange taught transfigurations, which I was decent at but had no interest in. Care of Magical Creatures with Professor Ramjit Singh was especially trying, for animals seemed able to sense that I viewed them not as living beings but as useful future potion ingredients. The beasts of the world did not like this attitude, and tended to express their displeasure by biting, scratching, or otherwise abusing me. The salamander I attempted to gather ingredients from even set me on fire. I took charms with Professor Tremens, and again I did not do particularly well, for it involved a wand. Useless, flailing things, wands. The only other class offered at the time was Automata, taught also by Professor Tremens, but I had no part in that. Cogs and gears and mechanical devices were even more inaccessible to me than wands.

The days passed quickly and I devoted my time to studying, organizing the Ravenclaw Quidditch team, and attending to my duties as Prefect. This was more than enough to keep any one person busy, and I occasionally wished there was another of me that could devote her time exclusively to the brewing of potions and other such leisurely activities. Business had been slow, for I had been too busy to devote myself to the marketing and advertising so necessary to building sales. I dreamed that if I could build my stockpiles, it would help me if a rush came, but even two of me wouldn’t have helped, for had no money and my ingredient supplies were dwindling dangerously. I tried to spread the word during meal times and hoped sales would increase soon, for I didn’t even have all of my books for the school year yet. I was rescued, and spared embarrassment by Caius Serence, who purchased a love potion for the hefty sum of 5 galleons, which covered my books easily and left me with some pocket money to boot. I wondered where he got so much money from, but thought better of asking.

Everything changed a few weeks after class started, mid-September on a Friday night. There was a new face at the faculty table. Tall, with fiery red hair, a handsome older woman in long, professional-looking purple robes sat beside the Headmaster. Whispers echoed through the student body about who this newcomer might be, though all talk was greeted with a glare from Headmaster Nigellus.

The meal passed uneventfully. The new arrival ate largely in silence, only commenting occasionally to the headmaster. After dinner, the headmaster stood and “ahemed” to get everyone’s attention. An anticipatory silence fell.

“There are a few matters on which I must address you tonight.” Headmaster Nigellus surveyed the students with a look of mild irritation on his face. “First, and by far least important, is a matter of every day affairs. Students are now restricted to one blanket each. This will help you all to toughen up. It builds character.

“Far more importantly, I’d like to speak to you all about the Wizard Armed Patrol unit. As I’m sure you’ve all heard already, the WAP has completed their first mission. This is an admirable achievement, and in recognition of it we have a representative from the Ministry of Magic who wishes to address you all. I present Auror Maeve Weasley.” He gestured to the woman in red, who stood up and surveyed the student body with an appraising eye.

“Thank you, Headmaster,” her voice was loud and stern. “The Ministry formed the Wizard Armed Patrol unit to train our next generation of young wizards, to prepare them for the duties that they will assume upon their graduation. To congratulate them for their successes so far, to set them apart from their fellows, the Ministry is bestowing them with these armbands as a mark of distinction and respect.” Auror Weasley held up a wide green armband embroidered in gold with an intricate heraldic symbol. “Please, step forward as I say your names.”

“Caius Serence. Guillermo Patil. James Ferguson. Marcus Relius.”

One by one, the boys she called approached the staff table and Auror Weasley handed them each in turn one of the armbands. Without hesitation, each boy put it on, though each displayed different attitudes about the bands. Caius looked smug and superior, Marcus proud, Guillermo pensive, James puzzled. Once they had all come forward and received the bands, Auror Weasley turned to the staff sitting at the Headmaster’s table. “Professor Patronius, as their teacher, you too will receive a band,” she added, passing it to him as he stepped forward.

“You have all done, and continue to do, an exemplary job. Under the tutelage of Professor Patronius, you have begun to learn what you must know in order to be successful as a unit.” She paused, and it took the assembled students a moment to realize that this was the point at which they should applaud their classmates. Scattered applause started tentatively, reserved and tense, and the clapping soon died away. When we stopped, she continued. “The Ministry has asked me to bring my expertise and training as an experienced Auror to Hogwarts to aid in the magical education of the WAP boys.” A ripple of conversation ran through the hall, cut off in an instant by a stern look from Headmaster Nigellus. “The Ministry feels that Professor Patronius has done an excellent job, and asks for his continued aid in teaching the WAP members about other matters.” She sounded oddly smug. “Please,” she gestured at the boys and the Professor, “be seated.”

Auror Weasley remained standing as the WAP boys returned to their tables. “Now that my first order of business is concluded,” she smiled, “I have great pleasure in announcing a special event to take place this year. As you all may or may not know, this year Hogwarts will once again be hosting the inter-school Quidditch match in the interest of international cooperation and magical fellowship. This year’s match will be against Durmstrang and will take place in early November, to be preceded by a ball to take place on Halloween. All Hogwarts students and all visiting students are required to attend.” Excited murmured conversation began immediately. I suppressed a nervous twitch, for my parents would insist on my asking a nice, pure blood Slytherin to such a thing and I had no interest in doing any such. Auror Weasley allowed the murmurs to continue for several moments before gesturing for silence. “The third week of October, 12 Durmstrang students, accompanied by their headmaster, Pellucid Nox, will arrive at Hogwarts.”

“No!!” exclaimed Professor Tremens, interrupting the Auror, her voice ringing with affront. She rose to her feet. “No, he cannot!” she continued. Conversation exploded again amongst the students as the headmaster moved to calm her down. Pleased to have something to think about other than the difficulties the ball would present me with, I eyed Elaina Sly, abandoned 40 years ago in the dungeons by Pellucid Nox. I couldn’t help but wonder who he was, what he had done, how he could have upset our usually level-headed head of house to such an extent.

Auror Weasley stood patiently, looking immensely irritated at the interruption. She waited as the Headmaster showed Professor Tremens to the student lounge, for the professor was crying and shaking slightly and clearly needed some privacy. Once they had departed, Auror Weasley snapped, “silence!” in such a harsh and commanding way that a shocked silence fell. “I cannot emphasize enough,” continued the auror sternly, “how important it is that Hogwarts win this Quidditch match. Though normally the inter-league match is of interest only to the schools involved, the war has changed this in many ways. Already many are viewing this match symbolically, as representative of the greater conflict between England and Germany. Winning will show nor just the superiority of Hogwarts to Durmstrang, but the greater superiority of our wizarding community to theirs.” She paused, and for once no conversation followed. Instead, all of the students sat wide eyed. The Headmaster and Professor Tremens came back in and silently took their seats. Professor Tremens was pale, her eyes red, and I felt a great deal of concern for her. “With that in mind, I will now announce the Hogwarts team. I expect you all to support and respect these individuals to the utmost of your abilities.” She paused, then added, “due to the intensive nature of their training, members of the WAP patrol will not be able to participate.” All of the boys looked affronted at this, understandably for all were members of their house Quidditch teams, but no one spoke. “Please rise as I say your name.

“Reginald Farnsworth, chaser. Aya Lunari, chaser. Maya Lunari, chaser. Deletrious Carpenter, beater. Serminia Gaunt, beater. Lydia Malfoy, seeker. Delia Prince, keeper.” 

I stood when she said my name, inexpressibly surprised. I felt like there was a spot light upon me, the eyes of so many students on myself and the other team members. Suddenly, I wished there was nothing more I had to worry about than my parents reaction to the news of the ball.

“Congratulations to you all. Extensive time will be set aside for you to train together. To facilitate this, house play will be suspended until after the match.” A groan arose from many at this, but cut off just as quickly when she glared at the student body. I felt a burst of relief. At least I would be spared fielding the worst team in house history. “I have one final order of business to attend to.” Auror Weasley withdrew a scroll from her sleeve, taking her wand in her other hand. Unwrapping the scroll, she cleared her throat, and two burly wizards that I hadn’t noticed before stepped forward. “By order of the Ministry of Magic,” she said, speaking very quickly, “Icaria Tremens is to be arrested immediately on the charges of conspiracy and murder of the previous Minister of Magic.” Waving her wand, she cried out a spell which caught Professor Tremens as she was just starting to stand up. She fell back, bound head to toe. Voices arose in protest throughout the hall and the other Professors jumped to their feet, many drawing wands, though whether they thought to target Professor or Auror I could not begin to guess.

“Take her away!” said Weasley, and the burly wizards seized Professor Tremens, carrying her bodily towards the main exit from the Great Hall.

“What is the meaning of this?” demanded the Headmaster, his voice cracking with outrage.

“I’m sorry, Phineas,” said Weasley more softly, “but a crime has been committed and the repercussions are harsh.”

As she was hauled away past the students who sat at their house tables, we started to rise, many voices raised in sympathy, protest, anger, and confusion. Shouting, struggling as best she could, Professor Tremens looked outraged. “This is all Nox’s doing! Mark my words,” she shrieked, “Pellucid is behind this.”

The hubbub increased at her words as she accused the very Headmaster who would be here in scarcely a months’ time. Stunned and disbelieving, one thought presented itself as foremost in my mind: we had to find evidence of Professor Tremens’ innocence. A darker part of my mind added that it would be equally acceptable to destroy evidence of her guilt.

“SILENCE!” bellowed the Headmaster, but even that could not stop the scattered conversations. “You will all return to your house common room’s NOW. If I find any of you violating curfew this night, you will wish YOU were being sent to Azkaban.”

As I hurried my housemates back to Ravenclaw, I couldn’t help but think that, for once, the Headmaster was asking too much of us. The way Auror Weasley had spoken made it sound as if Icaria Tremens’ guilt was a foregone conclusion, and that meant that an investigation had already turned up evidence against her. If that was the case, there was little doubt in my mind that Professor Tremens was innocent and if no one else was going to look for evidence in her defense, I was perfectly prepared to do so. The Headmaster has asked the impossible when even I am planning to violate curfew and search for means to secure Professor Tremens’ release.

Having no interest in getting others in trouble, I escorted my fellow students back to the common room, as was my duty as Prefect. They were full of questions and concerns and useless talk and I spent many minutes sitting with them addressing their concerns. Curfew came all too quickly, and I hustled them off to bed. There was not a doubt in my mind that most would leave as soon as they thought it would be safe to do so. Sad that I was setting such a poor example, still I decided that my own departure would be cue enough to others that it was safe to go, so after a little while I left and made my way carefully through the darkened halls of the castle.

About ten minutes into my “adventure” it occurred to me that I didn’t have any clever ideas of how to go about this duty. I walked past Professor Tremen’s office, thinking perhaps to search in there, only to find it guarded by a truly imposing automaton. My suspicions were that it would deny entry to anyone other than the Professor in a violent and painful fashion. As I pondered how best to approach this matter, I found my mind considering things that were not altogether helpful. On such an eventful day, there was much to think about. I dwelled on the Quidditch game, and how much practice I would need before I would feel comfortable serving as Keeper for such an important match. I considered how Auror Weasley had referred to the Headmaster by his first name, how odd that was, what it might signify, and why it mattered what it signified. More and more, my thoughts turned to the matter of the ball. My parents had mentioned arranged matches to me more than once over the summer, and I feared that fate more than I feared being caught by the groundskeeper as I walked the halls. Images of my brother, ugly, unintelligent and unimaginative, loomed large in my mind. He was what my parents thought a good pure blood man was like, and I shuddered in terror of who they might find that fit that mold. If they found out about the ball, if they found out that I had no one to accompany me, they would find someone to fill the role. I thought of those in House Slytherin who matched their ideal, and shuddered again. No, I had to come up with a way around an arranged match. 

No! I shook myself angrily. I had to come up with a way to help Professor Tremens. That was why I was wandering the hallways. The matter of a companion to the ball could wait.

Pulling my attention to the present, I started once again to move with purpose through the hallways of Hogwarts. I was beginning to feel very foolish, having no idea what my destination was, risking torture in the dungeon, thinking about boys when I should be thinking about justice, and I started to convince myself to call the whole thing off and return to the common room when I heard voices ahead of me. A violent stab of nerves was followed moments later by relief as I realized that they were the voices of students.

I approached the voices cautiously, not wanting to frighten the students as hearing them had frightened me. Still, it seemed unavoidable, and finally I stuck my head around the corner and saw standing there Wilifred Himmelblau, a young Hufflepuff I knew little about, Katrina LaGuar, still radiating her beauty field, and, to my shock, Marcus Relius, the head boy. Of all the people I had thought I might discover breaking curfew, he was surely the last. 

Seeing me, Wilifred gave a cry and pointed, looking distressed, and, hoping to calm her down, I came forward so that they could see me clearly.

“Ms. Prince?” Marcus asked. “Is there anything we can help you with this evening?”

“Are you trying to help Professor Tremens?” I asked bluntly, deciding that it was far better to be straight forward than to dissimulate.

The three exchanged glances. Katrina scowled in a way that clearly suggested she would much prefer I go elsewhere. Wilifred simply looked nervous. After a moment, it was Marcus who said, “Yes.”

Nodding, I stepped further into the room. “May I join you? I want to help her also.”

Marcus smiled widely. “Of course. We would welcome your aid. Let me fill you in on the plan as we have developed it thus far.” I was greatly impressed by his ability to smile cheerfully while Katrina was glaring at him. Her rancor surprised me, for she didn’t know me. Perhaps it was connected with the way men fell all over themselves around her – generally, women didn’t seem to like her. When she realized that I had noticed her expression, she smiled at me sweetly.

“Yes,” she said. Her voice was beautiful and smooth and sweet, with a French lilt that I could not think of any term for other than sensual. “We would appreciate your expertise, Ms. Prince.” 

“Very good,” Marcus said cheerfully. “We think that we should…well…enter Professor Tremens office. The automata in front of her door certainly will not allow anyone to enter through the main door, and so we did some investigation of alternative means of entry. More correctly, I should say that Fred checked. She has discovered that we can gain access to Professor Tremens’ office by way of the fireplace in Professor Lestrange’s office, for the offices share a chimney. However, the problem is that Professor Lestrange’s office is directly linked to her personal rooms, where she presumably is right now. So we have been considering ways of entering into and securing passage through Professor Lestrange’s rooms.”

I nodded. “Alright,” I said, digging through my mind, trying to think of ways to accomplish this. “No one has an invisibility cloak, do they?” I asked, remembering our mysterious follower in our trip through the dungeon.

“Sadly not,” said Marcus.

All of us stood there in silence for many long moments, considering expressions on our faces. “I would have Mr. Whiskers help,” said Fred, indicating a rat which was sniffing around in a small cauldron that she carried, “but he’s terribly afraid of Professor Lestrange, for there is a large cat that often frequents her office.” It shocked me to realize that I felt intense sympathy for her rat. There was something about Fred, she was so sweet and adorable, with her long blonde braids and her slight accent, her soft, timid voice, that I couldn’t help but sympathize with the concern that she felt. I rather liked her already, despite only knowing her a brief moment.

“Yes, we have already dismissed several animal-related solutions,” Katrina added. “Marcus has said he can turn two people into, what was it, squirrels,” the word sounded strange with her accent, “but again, the cat would be a problem.” 

Thinking hard, I worked up a list of the resources that I had at my command that might be of help. I had left Ravenclaw with a full stock of potions. However, even as I tried to assess things, once again my mind wandered. It amazes me, looking back, just how concerned I was about the issue of a date. It was somehow even more pressing than the mortal danger of a woman I greatly respected. While I was so seriously considering how to break into a teachers office, I realized that I had a solution to the problem with my parent, standing right in front of me. Marcus Relius was a pure blood, he was well known for it since it was so unusual to see a pure blood in Hufflepuff. I gave him an appraising look. He was good lucking, tall and broad and dark-haired, and he had a reputation for intelligence which I had seen born out in Advanced Potions. Katrina glowered at me again and sidled closer to Marcus in a signal that any woman would recognize as one of ownership. Marcus seemed blissfully unaware of both looks.

“Do you have any ideas, Ms. Prince?” he asked.

“Please,” I said, getting my thoughts rearranged and back on track. “call me Delia.” I paused for a moment and took a deep breath. “I have a few potions that might be helpful. I have two body swap potions, which allow the drinker to change bodies with another. I have a shrinking potion, which reduces size of the drinker by approximately a third. I have two levitation potions, which will allow the drinker to fly briefly. I have a few other potions that I think would be less useful.” Including, I thought to myself, a love potion. Irritated, I crushed that thought as unworthy. I would never stoop to such means, to do so would be pathetic. “About the chimney…” I started, an idea beginning to shape in my mind. “It leads to the roof as well as the Professors’ offices, right?”

“I would assume so,” Marcus replied.

“Well, then, instead of trying to win our way through Professor Lestrange’s office, why don’t we attempt to gain access through the roof?”

“The roof?” asked Katrina. “How would we get onto the roof?”

“I have chocolates that will allow the eater to levitate for a minute or two,” Fred commented, sounding doubtful. “Is your potion more effective?”

“Yes,” I said. “My potion lasts for about 10 minutes. We could use it to get onto the roof. Not all of us could go, though.”

“I’ll go, and the rest of you should stay here.” Marcus said firmly. “I’ll turn into a squirrel, use the levitating potion, and go into the Professor’s office.”

All three of us had matching incredulous looks on our face. “She’s the head of my house,” I pointed out. “And they are my levitating potions. I’d like to go as well.”

Marcus seemed to think of about for a long moment. Katrina and Fred both looked mildly irritated at being left out. “And what should we do?” asked Katrina.

“Delia and I will go into the Professor’s office. The two of you should stay somewhere safe until we come back.”

“No,” said Katrina firmly. “I have an ideaW we could distract the automata. After all, if you make any noise it will notice, will it not? We’ll make sure it doesn’t notice anything.”

A look of concern came to Marcus’ face briefly, but then he nodded. “Alright. Be careful. And remember, what we are doing is very, very bad. I should not be condoning this. Under no circumstance should you follow my example in this in the future, do you understand?”

Katrina and Fred both nodded to show that they understood this was not representative of proper upright behavior, though both looked like they were having trouble restraining laughter. With a nod, Marcus turned away from them, and he and I headed down the hall, back towards Professor Tremens’ office.

“Do you mind if I cast a spell on you?” Marcus asked politely as we approached a window that we hoped would allow us access to the outside. “It will be considerably easier to navigate the roof if we are squirrels.”

“Levitating squirrels?” I couldn’t help but smile.

“Indeed.”

“That is fine with me,” I said. We reached the window in short order, and, with a little bit of effort, we managed to prop it open. Outside was dark and clear and a chill breeze was blowing. The eaves and shingles of the roof wavered strangely in the moonlight, shadows constantly shifting. Silently, I passed Marcus one of the potions, forcing myself not to look down.

Drinking the potions, Marcus muttered an incantation, and suddenly I felt a craving for acorns. Dismissing it with a fluff of my tail, I watched as Marcus metamorphosed himself and we both headed out the window, half running and half floating.

Though I had been concerned that the chimney might be blocked, we found it clear and we arrived in Professor Tremens’ office without any difficulty at all. Scampering around for a few moments, we soon reverted back to our normal selves and began to search the office in earnest.

I had been to the Professor’s office before, but never to look for her personal information. I knew it was too much to hope that she would have a convenient sheet of paper in an obvious location such as her desk that would list her alibi and why she couldn’t possibly be responsible for the crimes she had been accused of, but it hadn’t occurred to me how difficult our task was. Marcus and I quietly poked around, asking each other questions quietly, working quickly so that we could finish before our potions wore off, for if they did we would be trapped here. It didn’t take long at all to establish that there wasn’t anything obvious and that her desk drawer, which seemed the most likely location for her papers, was securely locked. I was beginning to worry that we would find nothing at all when a slight glimmer of light from one of the bookshelves caught my attention. Intrigued, I approached the shelf and could see that the books were being propped up by a somewhat large silver heart. I called Marcus over, and together we inspected it closely.

“I think,” Marcus paused, his fingers tracing a pattern over the base of the heart, “that it opens.” With a click, the heart broke into two pieces and a book and a silver key tumbled out and landed on the floor. I leaned down and picked up the key as Marcus grabbed the book. As he began to page through it, I headed over to the desk and tried to unlock it.

“It doesn’t work,” I said, frustrated. Pocketing the key, for I was sure that it was important even if it wouldn’t unlock her desk, I turned to look around the room more when I noticed that Marcus was staring, wide eyed, at the book.

“This is Professor Tremens’ diary,” he exclaimed.

“What does it say?” while I felt guilty examining something so personal, at the same time I was rather fascinated by the idea of one my professors’ personal writings, and I hoped the book would provide evidence of her innocence.

We paged through the diary quickly, and were thoroughly amazed by the story it told. The pages were filled with precise, neat handwriting interspersed with sketches and schematics and technical notes. The tale it told was a sad one. As a young student, Professor Tremens had worked in close collaboration with her mentor, Pellucid Nox (I blinked in surprise when we read that). Together, they built a number of Automata, and in many ways they were the creators and innovators of the field. Furthermore, it was clear from the professor’s writing that the two had shared more than the normal teacher-student relationship. After working together for some years, the decided to build an automata in the form of a girl. There were numerous drawings of the “daughter” that Professor Tremens and Pellucid Nox built, and I was stunned to see that such a thing was possible. Indeed, the two built many automata shaped in specific ways, including one shaped like the professor herself (which Marcus commented on, saying that he had encountered one similar on the WAP mission to France).

We were in a great hurry, so we couldn’t quite finish our reading, but it was clear that things went wrong with Pellucid in some horrifying fashion, and that our own Professor Patronius was involved, and that the matter concerned in some way how he came to be flesh again after centuries petrified. Professor Tremens was sorely wounded and she fled from the workshop that she and Nox shared. I could find no record of what happened to their child.

Finally, I sighed. “This doesn’t help.” I thought on the robot automata shaped like the professor. “In fact, it might hurt her case.”

“Indeed,” Marcus sighed also. “We should go.”

We started to leave when an idea occurred to me. Withdrawing a potion from my robes, I headed over to the desk. “Wait,” I said. “I think I can open the drawer.” Taking the shrinking potion, I poured it carefully over the lock mechanism and hoped for the best. The potion was not specifically designed for such application – it was meant to be ingested – but with a little bit of luck it would cause the components of the lock to shrink and allow us to open the drawer.

Sure enough, the drawer yawned open a moment later and we saw that it was filled with files labeled all sorts of unhelpful things, most seeming to do with automata. Marcus and I began to scan through them as quickly as we could.

Eyeing Marcus, the thought of the ball came back to me. It occurred to me that there was no one more appropriate to ask, for he was smart, handsome, well liked, and pureblood. I further thought that, as far as I knew, he didn’t have a girlfriend, and, as such, was much sought after by the female members of the student body. I realized that if I didn’t approach him quickly, then someone else would ask him and that would be that. I thought of how Katrina had behaved towards him, and how she had talked about “noble Marcus,” and how she was always around him because they were in the same house, and realized that I was almost certainly in direct competition with her. Looking at him across the file drawer, I realized that this was an opportunity that I would foolish to pass up.

“Um…Marcus?” I asked, surprising myself with how timid I felt.

“Yes, Delia?” he looked up.

“I was wondering if you might be interested in going to the ball with me.” I tried to sound calm, but I felt very foolish, a feeling I didn’t like at all.

Marcus looked shocked and did nothing but blink for several moments. “You’re asking me…now?” he sounded truly mystified.

“Yes, well,” I blushed, glad of the darkness. “Katrina isn’t here right now.” 

“Ah,” he replied, and I was pleased, for it sounded like he really did understand. “Well, it’s a little complicated,” I was surprised, for he sounded embarrassed. “I would be perfectly willing to go with you, but there is something of a problem, in that I have already said yes to somebody else.”

“I see,” I felt a strange combination of relieved, ashamed, and slightly annoyed that I hadn’t somehow managed to act even more quickly. “Do not worry, I understand that, as Head boy, many girls would want to ask you, and it is very reasonable that one already has done so, and just as reasonable that you would accept.”

“As to that,” Marcus sounded even more embarrassed. “I don’t think you quite understand. I actually would rather like to go with you, but for this problem, that is to say, I might be able to find a way, if you don’t mind, that is.” He looked sheepish. “I must seem like a terrible scoundrel,” he said apologetically, “telling two girls that I will go with them to the dance.

“That’s acceptable to me,” I said matter-of-factly without the least hesitation. All I needed, I reminded myself, was a date so that my parents wouldn’t start scheming. If I decided to pursue this further – and it occurred to me that doing so might be an excellent idea, for I was unlikely to find a better match than a pure-blood Hufflepuff Head Boy – all I had to do was impress him, out-do this other girl.

Marcus looked truly surprised. “You are sure you don’t mind? You don’t think me wicked?” He laughed a little nervously. “I don’t think that she would be this understanding.”

I shrugged. How to explain this? Most girls would be horrified at such a suggestion. “You are obviously in a difficult position, but I would like to go with you. If this is the only way to accomplish that, it is a sacrifice I am willing to make. After all, the alternative is to not go with you at all. Furthermore, I appreciate your honesty and straightforwardness. You have not attempted to mask things from me, and I like that.”

“That makes sense,” he smiled slightly, nodding. “When I know more about the details of how it will work out, I’ll let you know.”

“Thank you.”

“Well, we should go.”

Nodding, I put down the file I had been looking through, and had started to close the drawer when I noticed one very thick folder tucked near the back that we hadn’t examined yet. All of the files we had checked had contained schematics, and this one was no different. However, unlike the others, which had mostly been animals and the like, the drawings were specifications for a little girl. The file was labeled “Cherished.” Grabbing it, I closed the drawer. “I don’t want anyone who searchers her office to have this,” I explained, though I couldn’t have said exactly why I felt that way. The file and its contents seemed so personal, and the thought of them falling into the wrong hands appalled me. Marcus seemed to feel the same way, because he nodded.

Moments later, we were squirrels again, floating squirrels, and a few moments after that we were back on the roof. Despite the chill, it was a beautiful night, and we lay on the roof for long minutes staring at the stunningly clear stars.

Everything changed in an instant, though. There was a booming sound, a flash of light, and smoke rose into the sky.

“Bombs!” Marcus exclaimed. “Muggle bombs!” He summoned a shield around us as more bombs went off all around. Stunned, we didn’t move, simply watched the horrible bursts of fire light the sky. Shock didn’t prevent us from seeing what happened, next, though. Off on the far side of the castle, the North Tower swayed under the onslaught, the stones seeming to shiver, a dull rumbling sound permeating the air. Horrified, we watched as a bomb went off at the midpoint of the tower, a direct hit, with a resounding explosion, and, all at once, the tower collapsed in on itself in a horrible thunder of noise, grating of rock, and huge a cloud of debris. 

I stared at Marcus, my eyes wide. “We…” he swallowed hard. “We should go back inside.”

“Yes,” I gathered my wits. “Yes, the WAP boys will be acting, and I should…I should help.” I wished I knew what I should do.

Quickly, we climbed back in through the window, and Marcus hurried towards Professor Patronius’ office, where the WAP boys would be gathering. I stood for several long moments, gathering my thoughts, smelling smoke, listening to the crash of the artillery outside. First, I needed to hide the “Cherished” folder, which I did quickly in a side classroom. I could retrieve it later without difficulty.


	5. The Head Girl

I needed make sure that someone knew what had happened to the tower, so I headed through the corridors looking for a teacher. I found no adults, but there were numerous students wandering the halls in utter confusion. Realizing the danger that they were, for they could easily get lost or forgotten or any number of other fates, I began to gather the students I found, and as an ever-growing group we traveled the passageways of the castle. Eventually, I encountered Professor Lestrange. She looked terribly harried, her hair in disarray, her face smudged with dirt, her expression concerned. She stopped in her tracks when she saw us.

“Ms. Prince, take these students down to the shelter,” she said. Her voice was strained with sadness and worry.

“Yes, Professor.” I paused, and took a deep breath. “Professor, the North Tower…I saw…” it was too difficult to say, and I was glad I didn’t have to.

“We know,” Professor Lestrange’s expression became one of deep sorrow. “Go now.”

Forcing away how upset I was, reminding myself that I had responsibilities, that there was nothing I could do there, that the Headmaster and the Professors were working on it, I led the students down and down into the dungeon where the school had a shelter designed for times when the students were threatened. Outside, the dull thud of bombs persisted, and I wondered what was happening. Were the WAP boys alright? What was attacking us? How did these “bombs” work? How had the muggles found us? What would happen now? There were no answers, though, and so we waited in the dim light of the shelter.

Most of the students of the school were already here, and I tried not to think about whose faces I didn’t see. Many students frequented the North Tower, and I knew in my heart that there was no way that some hadn’t been killed, but the thought was too distressing to think on now, not while the stones still shed dust at each explosion. I tried to take heart in who I did see. Most of the students from my house were there, as were numerous others, including the Lunaris and Reginald Farnsworth from Gryffindor, Deletrious Grindelwald the giant and Alexis Crowley from Slytherin, and, I was relieved to note, Katrina and Fred had arrived safely. The room was packed tightly, all wearing terrified, weary, wary looks, and I headed over to a corner where my friends Celestine, Galatea and Lycia sat. Lycia stood as I approached, and I realized with a sick feeling that she was holding a dismembered arm. She looked thoroughly shocked, her skin pale, her eyes wide.

“The tower,” she said hollowly.

“I…I know,” I swallowed hard to keep from being sick as the arm dripped thick blood onto the ground. “Why don’t you sit down?”

“Ok…” she sat, looking like her thoughts were a million miles away, the arm resting in her lap.

We sat together, talking quietly, listening to the sounds of the battle above us. We hoped against hope that the fact that we had heard no other horrifying sounds like that when the tower had fallen was a sign that the rest of the building remained intact. Occasional new arrivals bolstered our numbers and helped ease my mind about the missing. At some point, Professor Patronius had joined us. He explained to all who asked about his presence that he couldn’t fly a broom and so he had come down here to keep an eye on things while Professor Singh flew with the WAP boys.

Time passed slowly.

Suddenly, the lights went out. Several students whispered nervous, terrified, “Lumos!” and several dim lights cast thick, wavering shadows over the room. The temperature dropped abruptly, and a sick wave of panic went through the students in the shelter.

Without any warning, a figure stepped through the closed shelter door. It was tall and gaunt, draped in thick, gauzy robes that simultaneously obscured and accentuated its frame. Its face was skeletal and was mostly hidden by a deep cowl, but we could still see in the faint light that it had a huge, black, gaping maw. It was followed almost immediately by three more things.

The room was as cold as the grave, the terror of the students were palpable as the things made it clear that all they were interested in was the warmth of flesh. One grabbed for Deletrius Grindelwald, the tallest boy in the school and the strongest. He attempted to grab it, and his hand went straight through. Furious, he tried again, and landed a solid hit which the thing seemed unphased by. I quailed, for if Deletrius couldn’t hurt it we were in serious trouble, for he was hugely strong.

“Expecto Patronum!” shouted Katrina into the eerie silence at one that was approaching her. A wisp of silver came from her wand, but nothing more happened. The thing started to grab for one of the Lunari twins.

The third moved towards the back of the room, I didn’t see exactly where, for I was far too concerned with the fourth, who was moving towards where myself and my friends were. Steeling myself, I stepped forward, pulling a potion from my robes. I wouldn’t let it approach the other Ravenclaws, it was my duty as Prefect to defend them. I had a plan, a good plan, I told myself. I threw the potion.

I had yet to try the freezing potion I had learned in the dungeon, and I was both pleased and disappointed with the results. Rather than stopping the wraith in its tracks, it merely caused the robes over the lower part of its body to solidify, an effect which it ignored without difficulty. However, I did get its attention, which was more to the point. If I could get close to it, I would stuff a Choking Gas potion down its throat. I didn’t think it would be able to ignore that. Withdrawing the potion from my stash, I prepared myself to get close to the thing and the hideous chill terror that it seemed to emanate.

Things happened very fast. It bore down on me. Lycia tried to cast something on it, but the spell failed; I noted morbidly that the arm lay beside where she stood, forgotten. Celestine flung herself at its back, latched on and tried restrain it, but it was so large and she so small that she had no effect, and I told her urgently to stop for I feared for her safety. Professor Patronius swung his sword at the thing, but it passed straight through. Elsewhere, I heard Fred shout “portfuzuo”, and felt a wave of horror that little Fred might be facing one of these things alone, but there was nothing I could do to help her. “Expecto patronum” echoed through the room once, twice, but still the spell seemed to be ineffective. 

It was on me, then, wrapping its arms around me in a hideous embrace. I had thought I was prepared, and I struggled desperately to raise the potion to its mouth, to force it to imbibe the choking, blinding gas within it, but I couldn’t find the strength. Even as I fought its arms enfolded me, its head lowered towards mine, and I felt weak, terribly weak. Somewhere in my mind were voices, angry voices, speaking out of endless darkness. They were angry with me: I wasn’t good enough, there was nothing I could do to make them be anything other than furious, and I was miserable, and there was nothing but endless black night in front of me.

The dreadful ghoul’s sucking maw, lipless and black, descended over my lips, and with it came the pitch black silence of oblivion.

My perception of reality returned very slowly. Extended periods with no sense of awareness were punctuated by brief times where I perceived light or could feel the cloth on me. Finally, my eyes slipped open, and I lay, blinking, in the diffuse light of a cloudy late afternoon. I felt terribly weak and somewhat unwell. Noticing a glass of water next to the bed, I tried to reach for it but I didn’t have the strength.

A few moment later, Merithe, who was a nurse at the infirmary as well as being a student at the school, came into view and she approached as she noticed that I was awake. She sat in a chair conveniently placed next to my bed. “How are you feeling?” she asked gently.

“Not well,” I replied. My voice seemed small and timid, much to my irritation. “May I have some water?”

“Of course,” Merithe smiled and helped me drink from the glass. “Also, you should eat this,” she added, passing me a piece of chocolate. “It will help.”

This confused me, but I ate the chocolate nonetheless, and started to feel better almost instantaneously. Though I still felt weak, it was as if I had had something warm to drink, and the welcome feeling of heat spread throughout my body. “Thank you.”

Over the next couple of days, I recovered rapidly. Many people came to visit me, including professors, several members of my house, and Marcus, who brought a smile to my face. Over the course of my conversations with them, I was able to start to figure out what had happened. The worst news by far, which brought tears to my eyes, was learning that more than 30 people had been killed when the tower had collapsed. The Headmaster had held a memorial service, and many people were wearing black for mourning. Merriment was in short supply. Not all was bad news, though. The WAP boys had successfully destroyed the air ships, which the muggles apparently call “zeppelins,” though several had been injured, and Guillermo Patil spoke angrily of pain bolts, though how muggles could have such a thing was unclear. The things that had attacked me – no one yet knew what to call them – had been driven off by the headmaster, who had been truly furious, more angry than anyone could remember seeing him before, at the assault on the students. Merithe told me that Professor Patronius had saved my life, driving his sword into the thing that had me embraced, and that right after I fell the WAP boys and Professor Singh had come – someone had gone for help amidst the confusion, though I hadn’t noticed at the time. Much had gone on that I hadn’t seen, and there were many anecdotes of the heroic actions of various people, though by far the most talked was that Katrina had kissed Maya – or perhaps Aya – Lunari to protect her from being “kissed” as I had been.

I was impatient to be free of the hospital. Thus, despite Merithe’s protests, I was on my feet soon. I grew tired easily, but I was determined to return to my normal schedule, to begin at Quidditch practice, and to be prepared for the Hogsmeade visit that was to take place on the following weekend.

I felt stronger each day, and was pleased at how few people felt the need to tease me due to me embarrassing experience of collapsing when kissed. The day of the Hogsmeade trip was bright and clear and perfect. I had a number of errands to run there, including one to the candy store for the Headmaster. With the galleons I had earned selling the love potion to Caius, I would be able to replenish my supply of ingredients and still have some money left over. As such, I entered the town in light spirits, ignoring the glare of Auror Weasley, who stood guarding the main gate, ready to go to extreme lengths to prevent any students from leaving the town with any products from Zonko’s Joke Shop. The town was full of students eating candy, playing with toys from the forbidden store, all chattering about the things they intended to do, excited to be free from school. 

I stopped first at the candy store, picking up the cockroach clusters for the Headmaster. He had asked me to purchase the candy, and also to retrieve an item he had ordered, though I didn’t know its nature. I approached the witch behind the counter and explained to her that Headmaster Nigellus had sent me. She reacted with a smile, clearly expecting me, as she lead me without hesitation into a magically concealed back room filled with a wide array of strange magical devices. Most looked dark in nature, and I didn’t pay them much mind, though an intricate music box caught my eye and I examined it cautiously, for I knew that many items were very dangerous to those unfamiliar with them. The witch went digging through the items, warning me to be careful without actually paying me any mind, and soon returned with the headmaster’s package. I placed it in a pocket in my robes, for it wasn’t terribly large, and departed for my next errand.

I approached Zonko’s Joke Shop rather apprehensively. The store was mobbed with students, and people were coming and going chattering about the things they had seen, but I had no interest in such. I had brought a love potion with me specifically for when I visited, for it was my hope to establish a business relationship with the owners, and I needed a demonstration piece. Potions, I reasoned, had a definite place in a joke hop, and if I could sell them potions my market would become much larger than just Hogwarts’ students. Ignoring my nerves, I made my way through the crowds.

Zonks himself was a debonair fellow, and he spoke extravagantly to the Lunaris as I made my way towards him. Looking around, I was surprised to note that already he was sold out of many products despite the prohibition against his joke toys at the school. Pretty much the only product that remained was a large bin with a sign that explained that Zonko’s Joke Shop would pay students a sickle to test objects in the bin. There were scorch marks on the side, and I shook my head, thinking in amusement that even I was not that desperate. Finally, the Lunaris left, and I approached the man himself, taking a deep, steadying breath.

“Mr. Zonks?” I asked.

“Yes,” he exclaimed. “How can I help you today? We still have some flower wands left.” He grabbed a wand in his hand and it turned into a flower with a poof as he offered it to me.

“No thank you,” I smiled. “My name is Delia Prince, and I’m a student at the school. I am fairly skilled at making potions, and I was wondering if I might be able to interest you in a business deal.”

“I’m listening,” and indeed, I was pleased to note that he did seem attentive.

“I’m able to make love potions,” I passed him the sample I had brought, “as well as body swapping potions, shrinking potions, levitating potions, and more. I think the applications to such potions in a store such as your own are obvious. I would be willing to sell them at very low cost, if you might be interested in buying large numbers.”

Zonks spent a few moments examining my potion closely, and then he nodded. “This is very good work,” he commented, and I flushed slightly with pride. “How much?”

Relieved, I launched into the price list I had created, listing naming of the potions I could make and how much each would be. The prices only represented a small profit for me, but I knew that if he bought enough even a small profit would add up over time. “Send me an owl with your orders and I’ll send you the potions as quickly as I can,” I concluded.

“Agreed,” he declared enthusiastically, shaking my hand. “Here, have a galleon,” he handed me the coin, the price I had stated for the love potion that he held now, and pocketed the potion. I left feeling better than I had in a long time. Handshakes were binding agreements, and this would represent a steady income. Happily, I thought about all the money I was going to make – I would have a profit, I’d be able to send some money home.

Pleased, there was a bounce in my step as I went to the pet store, ignoring all the troublesome animals that squeaked, squawked, and generally made a ruckus, to the glee of most the students there. Marcus had a pet hedgehog which he cared about a good deal, and I had thought to buy a toy for it. Increasingly, I was coming to feel that I needed to win his affections from this other girl, for I might never find another match that I would find so acceptable. Gifts seemed like a good start, so I asked the store clerk, who showed me a small ball that, he assured me, would be a sure success. I paid him, ignored his attempt to sell me knarl, and left to go find Marcus.

Locating him proved difficult, and after a fair while of fruitless searching I noticed that my fellow Ravenclaws were sitting at the Hogshead Tavern, smiling tolerantly as the owner offered them vast quantities of delicious looking food. Joining them, I was disgusted to realize that Katrina was there as well, and Dmitri was watching her as if there weren’t a thought in his head. What was it about her? I wondered, and started to consider that it was magical. I had heard rumor that she was a half-veela; the effects veela had on men were well known, and if she were half-blood she might be able to do something similar. As I sat there, I began to consider how to modify a love potion to protect someone from her sway, for my instincts told me I would need it.

“Dear Marcus told me that you had found little in Professor Tremens’ office,” she smiled sweetly. “Such a pity! Poor, poor professor.” I gritted my teeth, thinking about the file and diary now hidden in my dormitory.

“Yes,” I answered briskly. “It was disappointing.”

“Tell us about it,” Celestine sounded concerned, and I felt a bad about my brusque attitude. “I would like to know what we’ve learned so far.” The other Ravenclaws made sounds of agreement.

“Alright, I’ll go find Lycia, and we’ll talk about it,” for Lycia wasn’t there, and I was happy for an excuse to get away from Katrina. If I was lucky, she wouldn’t be there when I returned.

Heading out, I went to look for Lycia, but my searching was unfocused as I was lost in though. Increasingly, I was concerned that I was competing with Katrina. Her smug attitude towards me, the way she behaved around Marcus, the way she affected the men around her, all had me concerned, and I thought grimly that I was at a distinct disadvantage in dealing with her. However, the more I thought on it the more I became convinced that, aside perhaps from creating a counter agent for her beauty, I should limit my counter measures to the completely mundane and honest. It would make my victory so much more real and meaningful. And if I was wrong, and she wasn’t my competition, I would be none the worse off for it.

Near the edge of town I stumbled upon Marcus, who was heading some place looking purposeful. I called his name to get his attention, and he stopped with a smile.

“Ah, Delia!” He waited for me to catch up with him. “How are you feeling? Are you having fun in Hogsmeade?”

“I’m quite well, thank you,” I smiled back. “You’re being kept busy, I notice.”

“Yes,” he sighed a bit sadly. “I have not gotten to visit a single shop.”

“That’s too bad,” I said apologetically. “If you need anything, I could pick it up for you.”

“That’s alright,” he said, making an effort to sound more cheerful. “There’s not much I need, and I’m sure I’ll get a little time.”

Smiling, I pulled out the hedgehog toy. “I,” I paused, blushing slightly, feeling rather self consciously. “I know you have a pet, I thought he might like this.” I passed him the ball.

“Thank you,” he exclaimed happily. “Yes, I think he’ll like this very much.” The hedgehog stuck its head over Marcus’ shoulder, and it sniffed the ball as it was offered. I know little about animals, but it seemed pleased, batting at the ball with one paw. “Thank you,” Marcus said again.

We both stood there, and I felt foolish. Marcus fidgeted slightly, and I was about to excuse myself when he spoke again. “Delia,” he said, his voice gentle and friendly. His tone brought a smile and a pinkness to my face, much to my surprise. “I was wondering if perhaps I might interest you in having dinner. With me. I know a place in the castle where we could meet.” He looked apologetic. “It is clandestine, I fear, but I would very much like to spend some time with you.”

Blushing more deeply than I cared to admit, I smiled as warmly as I could. “I would like that also,” and I was shocked to realize to I truly meant it.

He smiled also, blushing slightly himself, and we parted ways.

I head back towards the Hogshead, a bounce in my step, a broad smile on my face. To be completely honest, I was grinning like an idiot. I went right back to the tavern, feeling immensely pleased with myself and happy in a way I couldn’t quite describe. I had a date with Marcus. How wonderful! I settled at the table where my friends sat. Katrina, thankfully, was nowhere to be seen.

“Is Lycia coming?” asked Elaina Sly.

I had, of course, completely forgotten to find her. “Oh,” I stammered slightly. “I couldn’t find her.”

“You look very happy,” said Dmitri, who sounded incredibly depressed.

“I have a date with Marcus,” I couldn’t contain my delight. “Don’t tell Katrina.” A small, overly rational part of me wondered what I was so excited about.

“That’s great,” Celestine said with enthusiasm. “Don’t mind Dmitri, he’s sad because Katrina said she wouldn’t go to the ball with him.” I was immensely pleased to note the distaste with which she said Katrina’s name.

“Well, I’ll go get Lycia,” and I left again. I found her without much difficulty, and we both headed back to the Hogshead to confer about what had been found in Professor Tremens’ office. Lycia needed to finish a few errands first, so I took the opportunity to buy the potion ingredients I needed from the general store before returning to my friends.

Once we’d gathered, I explained the situation, but I was still happy enough that I must have seemed more than a little strange, talking so cheerfully about such grim happenings. Near the end of our discussion, Katrina came back, and soon her smug behavior prompted me to leave again. Elaina Sly followed me out.

“Congratulations on your date,” she said, though it was clear that that wasn’t the main reason she was approaching me. “Are you going to the ball with him?”

“Oh no,” I said, trying to sound casual. “I’m going with someone else, he already has a companion for the ball.” But he wants to go out on a date with me, I thought, and then berated myself for how smug I felt about it.

She and I spoke for some time after that. Initially, she sought help, for apparently her parents had arranged a marriage for her, a problem I had a great deal of sympathy for. I promised to help as best I could, though I wasn’t sure that there was anything I could do. From there, we learned rapidly that we had much more than that in common, for we both were Ravenclaws from pureblood Slytherin families, and had had many similar experiences. We passed the afternoon wandering through the stores, talking and joking about things. She cheerfully bought me a beautiful enchanted flower at the general store, which sprouted into chains of blooms when placed in my hair, telling me to wear it to my date. Over all, it was as much fun as I’d had in a long time.

Eventually, dusk came and it was time to leave Hogsmeade. As we were heading out, Katrina came up to me. “So Delia,” there was a mean edge to her voice, “I thought you should know that I am going to the ball with Marcus.” She sounded very smug and there was a cruel grin on her face. I couldn’t help but suspect that Dmitri, who was clearly smitten, prompted by the rampant stupidity that Katrina seemed to induce in the men around her, had spoken about my date. “Who are you going with?”

“That,” I replied, trying to sound flippant and unconcerned, “is none of your business.” And Elaina and I left without another word. I felt, I must admit, terribly pleased with myself. The day had truly been an all around success.

The days leading up to the arrival of the students from Durmstrang were long and dull. Anticipation was high, and everyone wanted to see what was going to happen, but time plodded on, and so more and more tempers flared. It seemed, in short, that the time would never come. Personally, I appreciated the delay. I needed the time to recover from the damage and injuries I had sustained at the hands of the cloaked dark creatures, the Quidditch team needed practice, and on top of that I still had to prepare for the ball, study for my classes, meet the orders from Zonko’s, and perform my Prefect duties. Exhaustion began to be a serious problem, as I had little time to sleep. Most credited my being out of sorts to the upcoming Durmstrang arrival.

Some handled the strain better than others. There was one in particular member of my house who I found myself growing concerned about. Galatea Cogsworth, a Ravenclaw first year, was acting increasingly strangely, and her behavior caught Delia’s attention. She was clueless amd she was very close to – and clearly even more concerned than the rest of them with – the arrested Professor Tremens, and she was unusually strong and heavy. The more I thought about it, the more I couldn’t help but wonder if there was a connection between Galatea and the child depicted in Professor Tremens notes. All my attempts to determine this, though, proved fruitless. I read and reread the notes the Professor had made but I lacked with skill necessary with Automata to interpret the brilliance of the robot that the professor had designed. I examined the drawings and diary entries pertaining to “Cherished,” but nothing indicated that the automata in question related to Galatea in any way. Despite that, I couldn’t shake the feeling that the two were related. However, as the day of the arrival of the Durmstrang students approached, I had to give up my investigation, for more pressing matters needed to be attended to.

The first such pressing matter took place before the Durmstrangs’ arrival. After careful planning, a few notes passed by owl, and a bit of sneaking around, Marcus and I had managed to find a time when both of us could meet for the promised date. I was more excited about this than I ever would have cared to admit, and increasingly I found myself wondering what had gotten into me. This was all just a ploy, I would remind myself, this was only a means to avoid an arranged marriage. Marcus was convenient. Yet no amount of repeating this cold, calculated thoughts convinced me thoroughly; no amount of reminding myself could keep the silly grin off my face every time I saw him. All in all, the situation was growing worrisome.

The date was held one evening but a few days before the arrival of the Durmstrang students in a small hidden room that branched off from a secret passage which started as an off shoot the some-what secret corridor that led to the Hufflepuff common room. The directions that he sent to me were complicated to say the least, and it was with dubious certainty that I picked my way through the dusty, cob-web filled dark corridors towards the meeting place. However, my fears of getting lost proved unfounded, as I discovered Marcus, a lumos spell lighting the space, sitting with a small table, a candle, a simple table setting and a bit of food. Smiling apologetically, he gestured in welcome.

“I’m sorry,” he said, sounding as truly sorry as I’d ever really heard anyone sound, “this is less than ideal, but it’s the best I can manage.” There seemed to be an unspoken “I’ll make it up to you in the future” hidden in his tone, but I feared that it was just my imagination.

“Oh, it’s quite alright. It’s…unique.” I smiled reassuringly, feeling the now-familiar blush in my cheeks, and feeling myself quite the fool. I wondered vaguely if he felt the same way.

What we talked about that evening is largely uninteresting. We got to know each other; we discussed our pasts and our childhoods; we discussed Hogwarts and our classes and our teachers; we talked of potions and spells and hedgehogs. Nothing had great substance, but as a whole, it was pleasant in a way few other conversations in my life had been. I had never sat down with anyone and talked like this. Thinking on it, I couldn’t help but wonder what I’d talked about with people in the past. School, usually, and sometimes home and the holidays and the like, but never had I really sat and chatted so casually, even with my female friends. Looking back, I suppose it was a sign that I was growing up; at the time, it seemed like the most marvelous thing, and I felt somehow that I should be having conversations like that more often.

Our time, sadly, was limited. Both of us had so many duties and responsibilities that it had, in truth, been a wonder we’d been able to find any time in common at all. Marcus had a WAP meeting that evening, and I had to get to the Quidditch green. As we parted ways, my determination to beat Katrina to his affections tripled; I would not lose to her. I would be Marcus’ girlfriend.

Marcus had given me a gift, had insisted on it, in exchange for the hedgehog toy. The Headmaster had, in an effort to support the war and reduce costs, been most insistent that even as winter arrived each student was to have but a single blanket. This had already made for many cold nights, and was certain to make for many more. Wrapped in neatly folded paper, Marcus had presented me with a kingly gift: a beautiful blanket, a second one, to keep me warm. I have treasured it all my days, but immediately following the date it was especially nice, and I took to studying in the common room wrapped in my blanket. I received more than a few dirty looks from my cold fellow students. 

A few days after our meal, I was surprised to receive a note from Marcus. We had agreed that, for various reasons, we should keep relatively quiet about things. He was, after all, going to the ball with someone else, and it was important that he keep up appearances in that regard, and so I was surprised. The note he sent said only that he’d like to talk to me and named some times that he was available. Looking them over, I selected one of them – which was but a few hours hence – and wrote him back.

I arrived at the meeting time a few moments late, for Professor Lestrange had held us over in class. Marcus was there, waiting. He looked anxious.

“I’m sorry I’m late!” I apologized.

“No, it’s no problem. I can’t talk long, I just wanted to tell you – to warn you – about something.” He sounded worried and hurried. I nodded, and he continued. “I know that you are close the headmaster, but, well, as head boy I hear a lot about the things that people do around the school and such. And, well…” He paused, and I wondered what it was that had him so upset. “Well, I’ve heard rumors and seen some evidence that suggests that the Headmaster might have been responsible for the creation of those things that attacked the students, those horrible monsters. I’ve seen – it looks like they were trapped in the dungeon under the north tower, and broke free when the tower collapsed during the zeppelin attack.”

Shocked, I tried to figure out what to make of this information. “I don’t believe it – the Headmaster would never do such a thing. He cares too much about the school – too much about the students.” Thoughts of necromancy in the dungeon, of the other rumors I had heard, permeated, of the things the Gray Lady had said to us, and a small part of me wondered if it might actually be possible. I quashed the thoughts ruthlessly.

“Please, just, be careful.” He took a deep breath. “I have to go. Promise me.”

“I’ll be careful,” I replied, “but I truly don’t think that he would do such a thing.”

Nodding, Marcus left in a hurry, and I stood there, thinking on what he’d just said. How could the Headmaster have done such a thing? Why would he be playing with necromancy? I firmly believed that Headmaster Nigellus would never do anything purposefully to endanger the student body, nor did I think that he had evil intentions. Was it possible, I thought, that he had somehow created those monsters unintentionally? Was there any good reason to do necromancy? No, I tried to reassure myself, it must be a falsehood, it must all be untrue. But what if it wasn’t? I must have stood there for half an hour – I blame my fatigue and stress in retrospect – arguing with myself, before I realized the simple truth of the situation. I believed in Headmaster Nigellus. Even if he had been conducting necromantic experiments, he must have had a good reason for doing so, and would never have purposefully endangered the student body. Thus, it didn’t matter to me that he might have done this awful thing, even though I had nearly died as a result. 

Reassured by this realization, I moved on to more pleasant topics. Only when I was done being concerned about my mentors role in the creation of necromantic monsters did I realize how truly concerned Marcus had sounded. Blushing bright red, I left our meeting place and went on with my day, wondering what was happening to me. Whenever I saw Marcus, he seemed to either be on WAP duty or with Katrina. I knew he was going to ball with her; I also knew that he wanted to be going to the ball with me. One of the more interesting things that had come up during our date was the matter of Katrina. He had informed that he strongly suspected that she had used some sort of mind altering power on him, for at the time she had asked him out he had been about to say no when suddenly his emotions had shifted and she seemed to the most lovely and perfect of beings, and he’d found himself saying yes. Apparently, he had found that happened often when he was around her, and it was most distressing. I tried to defend her – I have no idea why – pointing out that as a half-breed she might have abilities she couldn’t control, pointing out all sorts of possible explanations that her actions might not be her fault. Marcus concurred, but I could tell that he remained unconvinced. I felt distinctly silly, standing and defending my rival, yet somehow I knew it was the right way to handle the situation. I wanted to win, I wanted to beat her, but maligning her would not help me accomplish that. I had to seem better than her. However, defending her didn’t mean that I didn’t believe that she might be using abilities to manipulate Marcus’ feelings. If I didn’t do something, and fast, I might lose him to whatever powers she was using. I dared to wondered when I had begun to think that he was mine to lose.

Knowing she was half-veela, I began to seriously consider how I could modify a love potion to combat her sway. Though such a potion could be used to cut her off, I had no desire to force Marcus to love me. No, the more I watched Katrina use underhanded methods to woo him, the more convinced I became that my chances of victory lay in complete honesty. I had to make him see through her without damaging my own reputation in his eyes. Thinking on the nature of the potion I had made, I became convinced that I could concoct a mixture that would counteract her abilities. I knew I could do it, I hoped I could do it in time for the ball; the only remaining problem was that I had no one to test it on. At the cost of even more of my sleep, by the morning of the ball I had a single vial of a potion that I hoped against hope would inoculate Marcus against Katrina’s charms.

Over breakfast, which I found I had little interest in actually eating, I wrote a hurried note to Marcus. I needed to talk to him, it said, at the soonest opportunity, and he should tell me when and where we could meet on a matter of urgency. The vial of potion was in a safe pocket in my robes, and while my nerves said that there was no need to give it to him yet, I knew that there was no time like the present. I had reason to be nervous, of course, since I had not been able to test it. What if it did something vile? What if it had the opposite effect as I hoped? I had considered slipping it to Dmitri and then watching how he handled it, but I feared that even if he encountered Katrina while under the potion’s effects I still would not know how the encounter left unless I followed him the entire time. What if it only lasted a few minutes? What if it was poison? I wished I had time to make a counter agent, just in case the worst of my fears were realized. With the ball that very night, though, time was in short supply.

Mere moments after my note was sent I received a note of my own, in Marcus’ sloppy hand. I almost laughed aloud. His note, which must have been sent at almost the same instant mine was, said almost exactly the same thing, too. “Delia – it is imperative that I speak with you before the ball this evening. The sooner the better.” I chanced a glance in his direction; he was reading my note while attempting to fend off Katrina’s attempts to espy what it said. I hadn’t signed mine, so even had she seen it, she wouldn’t understand what it meant, but still it irked me to see them flirting. The way he smiled at her set my teeth on edge, and the way she smiled back made me want to hurl things at her. And he was smiling at her. Even though he thought she was using him! I fingered the potion in my pocket. It had to work, it just had to. As he finished reading the note, he glanced at me and he smiled that smile at me. When Katrina saw that, her mouth tightened to a line, though she made sure Marcus never saw her irritation. I tried not to look triumphant. “Right after breakfast,” I wrote on the back of his note, and sent it back.

“Delia,” I had been sitting alone, but now Galatea was beside me, tugging on the sleeve of my class robes. We didn’t have classes that day. There was too much preparation to be done for the Halloween ball, but I wore them out of habit. The students had been assigned to work teams which were to aid the Groundskeeper and the staff in decorating the castle, and as a Prefect I was supposed to organize one of those teams. The robes would help me keep order, not that I seemed to have much trouble with that – I had found that students responded surprisingly well to me. “The Headmaster wants to talk to you!” Galatea almost squeaked. And she tore my robes. How did a girl so small get to be so strong? I wished I could solve the puzzle that Tremens’ arrest had left. Galatea had been so sad since the Professor was taken, and I tried to cheer her up. I told myself that that was the only reason I had befriended the girl, though it rang a little hollow to me. I was uncomfortable admitting to myself that a big part of why I had befriended her was to dig up her secrets. Rising, I followed her lead.

The Headmaster met me at the staff table, and, after glancing at the other staff – who one by one nodded their heads to him firmly – he gestured me towards a door near the staff table. “Come with me,” he said firmly. All thoughts of Galatea fled my head. What on earth had I done to warrant this? I swallowed hard. I had broken a few rules recently, I supposed. I had snuck out for a date with Marcus. I had an extra blanket. I had made a business deal with Zonko’s Joke Shop. I had broken in to Professor Tremens’ office after curfew and stolen – no, I intended to give them back! – and had borrowed a number of her personal belongings. The key we had found, which I had been wearing on a chain around my neck since I retrieved it from its hiding place during the attack, felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. Of my crimes, that was the most serious. Perhaps I had broken a lot number of rules recently. I resisted the urge to hang my head in shame. Nothing like this had ever happened when I kept to myself! Making friends certainly did seem to mean finding ways to make trouble. 

“Ms. Prince,” the Headmaster said. His voice was firm and strict. Of course, Headmaster Nigellus always sounded firm and strict. “The professors and I have been consulting on a matter of some importance. Due to some unfortunate circumstances, the current Head Girl has been, shall we say, removed from her position.” I blushed. All manner of rumors were circulating in regards to the Head Girls activities, for she had apparently taken ill in what could politely only be termed as a “rather specific” and regular fashion in the mornings. Even her own housemates in Slytherin were displeased with her. It was not the sort of thing normally discussed in polite company, and it would grow more taboo when she was fit to return to school in 6 or 7 months. “However, the school must have student leadership in these trying times! After a great deal of discussion, the staff have decided that you are to be the new Head Girl.”

I blinked at him. I opened my mouth to say something, and then snapped it shut again. I blinked a bit more. Surely, I must have misheard him. “Sir?” 

“Of course,” he explained, sounding distantly apologetic, “it’s far from ordinary procedure to select someone not in their 5th year to be Head Girl. However, the staff felt that in the current crisis that this school is facing – attacks by the muggles, that sort of thing – we needed to choose carefully, choose someone who had the strength of personality, the ability to lead, the sense of self.” I blushed under his praise. It would have been rather mild praise from most, but coming from the Headmaster, who was normally so reserved, I felt acutely just how high the praise really was. To my relief, he didn’t notice my embarrassment. “I believe we’ve made the right choice. It will be announced to the school at the mid-day meal, and you will be introduced to the students from Durmstrang as such. Make sure you handle yourself in a fashion that does the school proud,” he concluded firmly. 

I nodded enthusiastically enough that I felt silly. “Yes, Headmaster. Thank you, sir.” 

As he escorted me out of thee side room, I wondered what I looked like. A lot of heads turned my way, though most only in a glance; it wasn’t normal for the Headmaster to take students aside, though it wasn’t unheard of. It was usually for some sort of punishment – the Lunaris had been taken aside more than once, and their departure was always accompanied by the Groundskeeper smiling eagerly and a large number of points being lost from Gryffindor. My expression surely didn’t help – I suspected it was ambiguous, revealing my bewilderment. I wasn’t happy about the development. I’d been so busy I hardly had time to sleep for the past few weeks, between my class load, Quidditch practice, and my Prefect duties. I still felt drained and weak from the attack of those foul monstrositie, as well. And now, on top of all of that – for this duty did not supplant any of them – I also had to add the duties of Head Girl. I wasn’t even sure what the duties of Head Girl were!

Ignoring the questioning looks that Elena, Celestine, and my other friends directed my way, I left the Great Hall to go and do some emergency research. If I was to act as Head Girl at the ball, I needed to know before that what was expected of me. A hand on my shoulder as I walked out made me jump, my heart pounding, as I turned around. “What?” I exclaimed.

“Sorry!” Marcus apologized hastily, dropping his hand as if I’d burned him. I blushed.

“I’m sorry,” I replied, blushing more. “You just startled me.”

“Is everything alright? I saw the Headmaster take you aside. I hope you aren’t in any trouble?”

“Oh, no, that wasn’t it at all. I’ve…” I took a deep breath. “I need to talk to you.” I couldn’t, or some reason, make myself tell him what the Headmaster had just told me. He’d know soon enough. I’d been about to share it with him when it dawned on me that if I was Head Girl, and he was Head Boy, it might mean something. I had no idea what it might mean, he certainly hadn’t had any relationship with the previous Head Girl, yet it felt like it carried some kind of weight. I blushed even further as I thought on it. He looked at me, his expression concerned; his hand had risen to a position parallel with my shoulder, as if he thought he might have to catch me if I fainted.

“I really am very sorry,” he said again, “I’ve given you a fright! Come, you need fresh air; do you have a moment? I must speak with you as well.” The sentences came one on top of another. He was blushing slightly now, too.

“Yes, a short walk sounds delightful,” I took a few deep breaths, and was glad that I was steady on my feet. “I’ve made something for you,” I said as we started off. There were other students in the halls, so I kept my voice low, but none of them looked at us twice. I was glad that Katrina, for once, didn’t seem to be stuck to Marcus like glue. I reached in to my robe and withdrew the potion I had made, placing it firmly in the hand that he still held ready to catch me. It was faintly pink, caught the light as if it contained bits of glitter, and flowed in the bottle as if it was very thick despite its apparent translucency. 

Marcus looked at it, frowning. “I’m not familiar with this potion…?”

“No one is,” I smiled. “It’s unique, at the moment, though I can make more if it works. It’s for you. To protect you.”

“Thank you,” he exclaimed. “I’ll save it!”

“No! No, you don’t understand. It’s to protect you,” I was blushing again. Damn it all! “It’s to protect you from Katrina!” I finished in a rush. Marcus looked at me with the most wondering expression.

“Protect me…from…Katrina?”

“Remember, we were talking about whether or not she uses magic to influence…people? Well, I started to think that if she has power to induce affection in some way, I might be able to modify a standard love potion in to a ‘resist love’ potion. I haven’t been able to test it, unfortunately, but I’m pretty certain it won’t hurt the person who takes it – I’m certain it won’t,” I didn’t sound certain, but it couldn’t be helped. “And I think it will help. All it will do is neutralize her power; it won’t interfere with any feelings that actually exist.”

“Thank you,” he said with all sincerity. “I will definitely use this. Do you know how long it lasts?”

“No,” I said sadly. “But I can, like I said, make more.”

“It’s great,” he smiled at me. I blushed again. What was it about the man? How could he make me turn pink so very easily? This was all just for convenience, I reminded myself firmly, as if I was arguing with the foolish grin that was spreading over my own face in response to his smile. I’d only approached Marcus so that my parents wouldn’t make me marry that awful Caius Serence, or Guillermo Patil, or one of the other Slytherin purebloods. No other reason! And yet I kept smiling.

“You haven’t made this any easier,” he said, and my blood ran chill. Why did it do this? Convenience! “So I’ve been thinking a great deal about the problem. Tonight’s problem.”

“The fact that Katrina expects you to spend the entire ball with her?”

“Yes. And the fact that I told you I’d go with you as well.”

“It’s alright if you can’t,” even as I said that, I felt a moment of panic. I wanted to go with Marcus! Where would I find another acceptable date in time? The Head Girl had to have a date for the ball. And I wanted Marcus to go with me! I smiled.

“I want to go with you,” he looked right in my eyes as he spoke, firmly. “It’s going to be complicated. I wanted to make sure, though, that it is alright with you. You will be going with ‘me’ but you will not be going with ‘Marcus.’”

“Who will I be going with?”

He drew from his pocket his mask. Everyone was required to wear a mask to the ball that night, which had caused quite a run on all of the available masks in Hogsmeade, from what I’d heard. His appeared to be fairly simple, black with black feathers, and he tied it around his head. It was almost on when he suddenly paused, looking up and down the corridor. No one was in sight, but he still drew me back in to an alcove. I hoped no one saw us; what ever would they think we were doing in such a place? He glanced out of the alcove again quickly, saw no one, and then tied the mask on. Spontaneously, his appearance changed. The mask stayed the same, but his clothing shifted to match it, a black suit and a sweeping, immense black cloak. He was shorter, and his hair darker. His eyes still looked steadily out from the mask, but the rest of his face was completely hidden. “Robert Black,” he said, “if that’s alright.”

I laughed, steadying myself on the wall with one hand. “I think it’s perfect!”

“I’ll try to spend the time evenly, but it might be difficult,” he sounded so adorably apologetic that I don’t think I could have helped but forgiven him even if I had been very upset. Of course, I wasn’t upset, so the effect only served to make me feel bad that he felt so very bad and I didn’t. 

“As long as you dance with me once, all if forgiven,” I paused thoughtfully. “Oh, and as long as Katrina is there to see me with Mr. Black. Otherwise, she might think I didn’t have a date. And that would never do!”

“Very well,” he smiled again and my heart fluttered again. Completely ridiculous! “I know I interrupted you while you were in some haste, so I will leave you to it. I will see you this evening, though.”

“It’s a promise.” I smiled at him, and turned and left. He told me some time later that I had a glanced back I would have seen him red enough at that moment to more than vindicate all of the blushes he caused me, but I did not look back, so I have only his word for it.

The duties of Head Girl, as it turned out, were not much more arduous than those of prefect. Indeed, they were virtually identical, only more so. Instead of being obliged only to the welfare of my own house, I was also responsible for the greater welfare of the entire student body. I could expect to be called upon for all manner of additional duties as assigned to me by the faculty, and by accepting the “honor” of being Head Girl I could not say no to even the most absurd of them as long as my safety was not threatened by complying. In short, where as a prefect is obligated to the faculty in most ways, but with some freedom, the Head Girl – and Head Boy – could be made virtual slaves by any cruel faculty member. I prayed that none took advantage of that, and rested easy that at least I had a decent understanding of my duties without having to learn new rules. It took long enough to learn all of this, however, that I actually wasn’t even present at the lunch where my new role was announced. I wasn’t hungry anyway, I was far too nervous about the evening to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It just occurred to me that I have a photoset up on Flickr with pictures of the characters from this game. It's set to be fully accessible to the public. All of the pictures are labeled with which characters they are and who played them.
> 
> [Flickr Set](https://www.flickr.com/photos/unforth/sets/72157603185652320/)
> 
> [This is a shot of me - Delia - dressed for the ball](https://www.flickr.com/photos/unforth/2030267841/in/album-72157603185652320/)   
>  [The Lunaris (not actually identical twins, lol...)](https://www.flickr.com/photos/unforth/2031083892/in/album-72157603185652320/)   
>  [Ravenclaw - from left to right, Dmitri, Galatea, Merithe, Prof. Tremens, Celeste, Lycia, Delia](https://www.flickr.com/photos/unforth/2031075188/in/album-72157603185652320/>House%20Hufflepuff-%20Katrina,%20Marcus,%20Prof.%20Patronius%20and%20Fred</a>%0A<a%20href=)   
>  [Slytherin - Alexis Crowley, Prof. Lestrange, Deletrious, Guillermo Patil, Caius Serence](https://www.flickr.com/photos/unforth/2030277381/in/album-72157603185652320/)   
>  [Gryffindor - Reginald, (someone who is not in this story at all), Prof. Ramjit Singh, the Lunaris, and James Ferguson](https://www.flickr.com/photos/unforth/2031074706/in/album-72157603185652320/)   
>  [The Instructors - Prof. Sprout, Merith, Ramjit Singh, Headmaster Nigellus, Lestrange, Tremens, Patronius](https://www.flickr.com/photos/unforth/2030295171/in/album-72157603185652320/)   
>  [Pellucid Nox and Phineas Nigellus](https://www.flickr.com/photos/unforth/2031094266/in/album-72157603185652320/)


	6. Joining the Dance

I had to scrimp and save in order to afford the dress robes and mask that I was to wear. For a person of my family, only the best would do for such an outing, but of course my parents had no funds for such luxury, and so I had to buy the best myself. The result wasn’t actually the best, but I tried: sweeping blue satin in the Victorian style, a red and black lace and satin apron and a trailing bustle for my ensemble, and a black and green mask. I wasn’t the height of fashion, but I was as close as I could attain, and I thought all in all the effect was adequate. It took some time for me to prepare myself between makeup and hair, such that I found myself walking to the ball amidst the majority of the other students instead of early as I had hoped. Several people congratulated me on my “promotion,” whereas several others – mostly Slytherins – gave me distinctly nasty looks. I heard some truly rude suggestions on what I had done to earn my promotion, in regards to activities with the Headmaster, that I blushed to consider. I ignored the comments regally, if I do say so myself.

We were due at the Great Hall at 6, where we would assemble and settle ourselves for the evening, and our guests – seven students from Durmstrang, not the original 12 intended, and their Headmaster, Pellucid Nox – were set to arrive at 6:30. As I walked up to the doors of the hall, a dashing figure swept in and took my arm, cloak trailing, and it took me a moment to realize that it was “Robert Black.” I’m glad no one was watching, for it would have seemed odd for me to look so shocked by the person who was supposedly my date for the evening.

Katrina was there within moments. She swept in, upstaging my appearance in a truly spectacular white dress made entirely of gauzy layers; it looked like she was wearing a cloud, not a dress, yet the effect was still utterly flattering. She had a mask too, decorated like a swan’s head in white and silver, but it was on a stick, and she carried it negligently – nothing should obscure her stunning face, of course. “So, this is your date, Delia?” she asked rudely. “I don’t think I’ve seen him around.”

“Well, he is of Ravenclaw; you know so many of us never leave the library, I’m sure you’d not recognize many of the members of my house,” I lied, hoping none of my housemates thought to comment on the unknown Ravenclaw.

“I see,” she said distastefully, and then she turned to Marcus and I could tell that whatever glamour she used was in full effect. She gave him a breathtaking smile, batted her eyes, and said, “I’m Katrina, Katrina LaGuar.”

“Robert Black,” answered Marcus, bowing slightly, but as far as I could see he was in no other way affected. Maybe my potion had worked, I thought hopefully, or maybe she simply actually used her powers, maybe she didn’t affect Marcus, I had a moment’s optimistic hope. It was too much to believe, though I couldn’t have said why I longed for it. “If you’ll excuse us?” And Marcus took my hand and swept me into the crowd, leaving Katrina to blink in surprise. I almost laughed aloud; I doubted any man has dismissed her so abruptly in her life. 

“Oh!” exclaimed Celestine, who I standing beside us as we made our way through the crowds. Her mask was askew, dangling from her ears. “Delia, I was looking for you. This frog needs to talk to you!”

“Frog?” I asked faintly as, sure enough, Celestine pulled a familiar amphibian out of the bundle that contained her raccoon – I almost choked to see that she had worn the satchel to the ball, though it did complement her costume well, that of a muggle explorer. Tapping my lip, I realized why the frog looked familiar – not the one from the dungeon, as I’d first thought it must be, no, this one was Professor Tremens’ familiar.

“We need the key,” the frog croaked at me, “we need the key to her heart!”

“What?” asked Marcus.

Celestine frowned. “Delia, who is this? Can we trust him?”

“Oh!” I exclaimed. Of course, as I had expected, even members of my own house could not be expected to recognize ‘Robert Black’ the Ravenclaw. I trusted Celestine completely, but there simply wasn’t time to explain. “Yes, he’s my date, his name is Robert. I trust him.” I hoped that would be adequate. Turning to the frog, I addressed myself instead to it. “What do you mean?”

“The key to her heart, it’s missing!” the frog sounded very distressed, in a croaking sort of way. “She needs it or else she’ll die! We must find the key!”

“Croaks came to me not long after Professor Tremens was arrested,” Celestine explained. “I’ve been taking care of him. This is the first thing he’s said about a key, though. This is the first thing he’s said at all! I didn’t know he could talk until about an hour ago, when he started telling me we needed a key. I thought you might know what he’s talking about?”

“Yes,” I nodded, quite certain I did. Without hesitation, I withdrew the chain from around my neck, which had the key still on it. “Here’s the key,” I passed it to the frog, which looked relieved, though I can’t say how I recognized such an emotion on the visage of a frog, nor relate adequately to another how it appeared. The frog stuck out its immensely long tongue and snatched the key into its mouth.

Celestine looked at me, clearly quite shocked. “How did you get that?”

“It was in Professor Tremens office. I thought it must be important, so I’ve kept it with me. Does she need it immediately, frog?”

“I imagine she does,” said Marcus. “At lunch, the Headmaster announced that Professor Tremens had collapsed in Azkaban.”

I would have known had I only gone to eat! Of course, I wouldn’t have known of the key then anyway, so it wouldn’t have mattered. Still, I felt like I’d endangered her even further. “Very well, then we must go to Azkaban at once. Professor Patronious is close friends with Professor Tremens, I think it would be alright to let him know of our plans. Robert…?” I trailed off, unable to ask him what I needed to without exposing his identity. I could just see the edges of an apologetic grin from under his mask. “Celestine, since the…since Croaks trusts you, you should definitely go. See if you can find someone who can apparate to take us there, unless you know how?” she shook her head, and I sighed. “I do not either. I must hurry, I have to be back before the students from Durmstrang arrive.”

Not a moment after the words left my mouth there was a great commotion from the front of the hall. The Groundskeeper, wearing a truly hideous set of proper dress robes which appeared to be stained with dried blood – I refused to believe that was their intended shade – stood in the door way, which was swept wide open, and behind him were arrayed our arrivals. They were early. In a voice worn out from breathing the dank air of the dungeon, he announced, “Headmaster Pellucid Nox, and the students from Durmstrang!” 

Without pausing for the announcement to finish, Pellucid Nox swept in to the Great Hall, and I saw him for the very first time. How I wish it had been the last! I’ve rarely in my life gazed upon any one with such a commanding presence. Though he wasn’t tall, he held himself with confidence. His robes were of the highest quality, in black so deep that they somehow made other blacks around them appear to be mere shades of some other color, trimmed in ermine. In one hand, he gripped a staff as tall as himself, knobbed and crooked yet strong and capped in a gem that seemed to glitter even when there was no light on it. He did not lean on the staff, and one needed only look at him to see how vital and strong he was, standing proudly, not a strand of gray in his long brown hair. I was deeply impressed, but I was also very frightened of him, for his mouth was twisted in a smirk as if he gazed upon insects and his eyes were cruel. “Headmaster Nigellus,” he said disdainfully, as if even our Headmaster was entirely beneath him and his notice, “if this is the best you have to offer such a distinguished guest as myself – and my students, of course,” he added as an afterthought, “it’s a wonder that you have any guests at all!”

“If you’ll recall, Headmaster Nox,” and I was surprised to hear rank hatred in the Headmaster’s voice. Had these two truly been friends when they were in school? If I had not heard it from Elaina, I could scarce have believed them anything other than blood enemies. “You refused to host at all, so I can only assume the welcome you have received here to be infinitely better than the welcome that might have been received at your school. Will you please introduce your students to us?”

Nox sniffed, as if he might possibly be convinced to deign to do so. “Dietrich Ubelwalt, Quidditch captain and beater,” he announced, and the first student, who was the tallest boy I had ever seen in my life other, perhaps, than our own Deletrius Grindelwald, stepped in and bowed deeply. Even bowing, he was taller than many of the first years. He must have been 8 feet when standing straight. Nox looked furious for a moment, but the expression was gone so quickly that I wasn’t sure I had seen it at all. “Wolfgang Baer, beater,” the next young man came forward; small and wirey, he looked more the image of a seeker than a beater to me. Instead of bowing, he simply cracked his knuckles intimidatingly. “Lukas Silberholz, chaser,” an ordinary looking boy with a beard that made me wonder if I should consider him a man instead, surely no student of 18 could have such a growth. “Gregor Langhaar, chaser,” he looked like he had some sort of daily ritual involving beating his head against a wooden board, for his face was very flat and seemed to be scored and pocked with many old scars. “Mathilde Wronska, chaser,” if not for the name, I would hardly have believed her a girl despite her chest and long red hair, for she was tremendously tall and broad. She and the beater, Baer, could easily have traded positions and everyone would have thought it perfectly normal. “Lars Yuvgeny, seeker,” even their seeker was large, very tall but wiry. I suspected he was very good at what he did. “And Ory Kazinsky, keeper,” who was large and sturdy yet somehow almost invisible next to his companions. He sneered as much as they did, but I got the feeling that the crowd made him nervous. I suspected that those nerves would fade on the pitch. Indeed, looking at them, I suspected that they were all very good. They lined up by the door, and to a one they were looking down their noses at us, though some of them – Gregor, to some extent, and especially Dietrich – also looked curious. I wondered if any of them had noticed the ceiling yet. Surely no one could look at that most marvelous of sorceries with such disdain. “And what of your team?” asked Nox, making the word ‘team’ sound like a synonym for the word ‘rubbish.’

“Welcome to Hogwarts,” Headmaster Nigellus announced in the least welcoming way I had ever heard. “The representatives for our team are: Sereminia Guant, Quidditch captain and chaser,” the terrifying Slytherin stepped forward, and her smile put the disdain of the Durmstrang’s to shame, so aloof and superior did she manage to look. “Deletrious Grindelwald, beater,” though I didn’t think much of him, it was nice to have someone so tall on our side. All the Durmstrangs looked utterly shocked, especially Ubelwalt. I suspected he’d never had to look up to meet someone’s eyes in his entire life. “Maya Lunari, beater,” for a wonder, I realized that the twins were wearing different clothing, which meant that for once I was able to tell them apart. Maya wore an attractive blue dress. She swaggered up, her sister trailing behind, awaiting her turn. “Aya Lunari, chaser,” her dress was green, and when she joined the line she and her sister both shot cheerful, mischievous smiles at the visitors. This worried me, I’ll admit, for they had repeatedly suggested underhanded tactics during practices, and I wondered what they were plotting now. Whatever it was it had nothing to do with me. “Reginald Farnsworth, chaser,” the little, shy Gryffindor came forward, looking utterly terrified. He was only about half the height of Uberwalt, and the entire Durmstrang team looked at him with open incredulity, which seemed to terrify him even more. I was surprised I couldn’t see him shake. “Lydia Malfoy, seeker,” sneering, the girl came forward, but she too was rather slight, and somehow the sneer came off as understated. “And Delia Prince, keeper,” concluded the Headmaster. I had been so wrapped up in watching everyone else that I was startled to hear my name, and I hurried forward, almost tripping on my dress. What must the Durmstrangs think of us, I wondered! Me, clearly very clumsy, and terrified Reginald, and a team almost entirely made up of young women – except for Deletrious, who probably could have lifted the entire lot of of us without difficulty. I tried to smiling in a welcoming fashion, but I knew I was almost as afraid of the intimidating team we stood before as Reginald was. At that moment, I knew with a dire certainty that the game, still three days off, was going to be brutal.

I don’t know how long the two teams stood facing each other, how long the utter silence reigned in the room. The Headmaster stood behind us, so I couldn’t see his face, but I could tell from the expression on Nox’s that the two were staring each other down. The smirk that Nox had worn was twisted in to a sneer. I was amazed, for it was clear that he hated Headmaster Nigellus as much as the Headmaster seemed to hate him. What had happened to the two friends, I wondered, that had caused such loathing? I think we might have stood there forever if not for the arrival of Auror Weasley, in the same regal robes she had worn her first visit here, but now with the addition of a mask that made her look like a queen.

“Ah, Headmaster Nox,” she said smoothly. She should have fallen down dead, standing between Nox and Nigellus as she did, blocking the daggers that shot from their eyes. Instead, she affected not to notice. “Welcome to Hogwarts. I see the students have been introduced already, that’s simply wonderful. I hope your journey wasn’t too arduous? No danger from the muggles? No? Well, we should leave the children to their dance. Please, join me and the Headmaster and the other Hogwarts professors for dinner.” Her voice had been pitched to be heard, but at this point she dropped down to a more conversational tone that I couldn’t make out over the stir that her speech caused. In the time she had been at Hogwarts thus far, we’d all come to rather hate her, but even so I was distinctly glad for her interjection at this juncture. 

The tension broken, the lines of students scattered and soon the Durmstrang students were mingling with those from Hogwarts, shaking hands, making introductions. They looked down their noses at us, but they seemed to take a liking to at least a few of the Hogwart’s students. Ubelwalt fell into conversation with Deletrius almost immediately, and a few of the other boys singled out Hogwart’s girls with whom to dance. I was glad that none approached me, and while I would have liked to say hello, I had other things on my mind. I looked around quickly to see if Professor Patronius was present. To my frustration, I could not find him. Unfortunately, while looking I saw another sight which made my insides knot up. From where I stood, I could even hear what they said. Indeed, I think I was supposed to hear.

“Marcus!” exclaimed Katrina with the appearance of utter delight, smiling widely. “I was beginning to worry! I hope nothing is the matter?”

Marcus stood next to her, smiling back. “Just running a little behind schedule,” he apologized. “I’m sorry, duties of the Head Boy and such.”

“Will you dance with me? Please?” Without waiting for his answer, she put an arm on his sleeve and began tugging him towards the dance floor. I turned away, feeling ill, determined not to see any more. Professor Patronius was probably in his office. I started moving towards the door when there was a hand on my arm. It was Celestine.

“While the introductions were going on, I asked around. The Lunaris can apparate, and they both want to come. Lycia won’t hear tell of staying behind, either, and Elaina. Oh, and Reginald over heard, and I think he wants to come as well.”

“So many?” I frowned. “Is that safe? If so many of us leave…so many people on the team…” Celestine murmured an apology. “Well, I suppose it can’t be helped. Can you keep a look out? I was just about to go and talk to Professor Patronius.” She nodded, and I waited until no one was looking, I ducked out of the Great Hall to find him.

I was most of the way there when I literally bumped in to him as I turned a corner. It felt like hitting a stone wall – which, I supposed, was exactly what I’d done, given the Professor permanently semi-petrified body. He’d been a stone statue once, kept that way for almost 2000 years by some vile spell, until the curse was lifted. After so long, the stone was simply who he was. Professor Tremens had been involved in removing the curse, or so rumor said, but I didn’t know how exactly. 

“Oh dear,” exclaimed the Professor. “I’m very sorry. Are you alright, Ms. Prince? Why aren’t you at the Ball?”

Picking myself up of the ground, I straightened my dress and mask hastily. “I’m quite fine, professor, it was entirely my fault. I was hoping to speak to you quickly.”

“Of course, of course. Is this about Icaria?” he sounded concerned. “You’re in her house, has she said something that might explain her collapse?”

I nodded. “Well, not exactly said something, but her familiar knows what’s wrong. She needs a key, a key that I happened to have until I gave it to Croaks. A few of us are going to try to take it to her. I thought a Professor should know.”

“Take it to her?” he frowned. “Actually, no, don’t explain. Anything that involves students conducting activities that would get them access to the secure ward in Azkaban is not something I want to know the details of. Just please, be careful. Who is going?”

“Oh, a just a few of us. And we’ll be careful. I thought perhaps you might come with us?”

“I’m afraid not,” he sighed slightly. “I would most certainly like to help out Icaria, but my body doesn’t function right if I apparate and I can’t fly a broom. I’m afraid I’ll have to remain here.”

I said my farewells, and returned to the Great Hall quickly to round up the others. Imagine my shock – and, I’ll admit, my anger! – when I found that none of them were there. A fair number of other people seemed to be missing to, including a large number of the Durmstrang students. A little bit of questioning indicated that people seemed to have left in several rounds, but that they had definitely left. Without me! I looked for someone to whom I could vent my frustration and realized in horror that there was nobody there I knew well enough. Indeed, there was hardly anybody there at all! Taking a hold of my anger, I suppressed it and focused on more important tasks. If additional students left the Hall, it would be incredibly obvious that something was happening. I wouldn’t let my friends get in trouble, and I wouldn’t let that horrible Nox notice that something strange was going on. My duty was clear. No matter what, I had to stay in that Hall, and I had to make sure as many other students stayed as I could manage. With a smile, I moved in to the crowd, meager as it was. There was small talk to be done.

Time in the Great Hall seemed to pass with infinite slowness, and yet pass it did. Soon, I had made all the small talk that one person could possibly make in an evening and was rapidly growing bored. Students – those who hadn’t gone to Azkaban or otherwise disappeared – were congregating around the food tables and on the dance floor. I had gotten a clearer picture of who was missing. All of the members of WAP – James, Guillermo, Caius, and of course Marcus – seemed to be gone; Katrina was nowhere to be seen either. That, at least, was a small mercy. All of those who Celestine had taken with her to Azkaban were not present, but I couldn’t as easily explain why only two of the students from Durmstrang remained. Whispers circulated throughout those who remained, wondering where everyone had gone, but theories varied so widely that I couldn’t figure out what to believe. I heard everything from a muggle attack – clearly a lie – to zombies, to more of those horrible monsters, all the way to playing the Quidditch game this very minute. That one seemed to lose favor only because I was there – though I appeared to be the only member of our team still present! It was exasperating, and I spent a great deal of time dispelling rumors and hoping no one would get in trouble – for it was too much to hope that the teachers would not notice, it was far too obvious that large numbers of students had been there and then left.

One group I avoided: that which congregated around Pellucid Nox. With all the arrogance he had shown earlier, he was entertaining a lively conversation, though I couldn’t bring myself to go over to see what the talk was about. Merith, the doctor, and Candy – a girl from the United States about whom the nicest adjective I could think of was “gregarious” – and several professors were part of the conversation. A few other students joined in from time to time, but they usually left quickly. The talk appeared intense and I skirted around it as much as possible. As I was making my rounds through the crowd, though, I heard something that caught my ear. It was Candy, in her thick accent which I learned later was indicative of the South, speaking in a carrying voice. “Why’d you give the muggles magical weapons, anyway? That’s wrong! It violates wizard law!” I stifled a groan. Was she trying to start a fight? In the Great Hall? With the Headmaster of Durmstrang? Did the girl have no sense at all, no propriety? Worst, I agreed with her whole-heartedly, but this was not the time, nor the place, nor was she the person.

If Nox was fazed by her accusation, though, he made no sign of it. “All’s fair, as they say,” he said mildly. “I have made alliances for the best, and I see no need to defend myself to you.”

“What about pain bolts?” asked Merith, but unlike Candy she simply sounded curious. Pain bolts were a weapon that the muggles were using that moved very quickly and bored through whatever they struck – and they were aimed at flesh more often than not. Guillermo spoke of them after the last muggle attack, having been struck by one painfully.

“Pain bolts?” Nox frowned. “I’m not familiar with that term, can you describe the effect? I’ve provided the muggles with a fair range of equipment, but nothing I might describe as a pain bolt.”

Merith gave a description – she even produced, from her pocket, a small nugget of metal that she believed was part of the spell but which was now inert, and Nox laughed. “That is a bullet, miss, they are shot from muggle guns – a curious device, but entirely non-magical.” He made it sound as if he was teaching an idiot, but Merith didn’t notice that, either. She nodded and pocketed the bullet again.

Accusations would only anger him, but I for one was still curious about Candy’s question. Modulating my tone with the thought that perhaps he would respond better to a query than he did to accusations, I smiled as best I could at the man who I was rapidly growing to loathe. “Do you think it’s safe to give muggles such devices? What if they decide to turn them against wizards?” I refrained from pointing out that at his instigation – I had no proof of that, but how else could they have known about Hogwarts at all? It must have been him! – they had already done so.

He smiled at me as if I hadn’t a brain. I strained the muscles in my cheeks to continue smiling back. “Indeed, that’s entirely the point. The muggles do not need such tools to fight each other, they need such tools to fight wizards. And, as you may not be aware, it was the English who first sent wizards to the continent to fight in this war.” I frowned. It had indeed slipped my mind; it seemed like ages ago that I worried, over the summer, that my brother might be in danger in the war, that the Ministry had sent small teams over to try to help France and Belgium.

“But those wizards weren’t fighting,” I replied calmly. “They were administering medical aid and trying to evacuate wizards who had been trapped by the fighting.”

“Is that what they told you? Of course, you are only children, the Ministry wouldn’t bother to explain itself to you,” and neither should I, his tone clearly indicated. “Of course, it would never do for everyone to know that they were sending teams of wizards in to conduct assassinations to aid the English and their allies. I only did what my patriotism demanded of me, gave my country and its allies the tools to fight back against this unwarranted assault, against this heedless violation on the laws that keep our world protected from muggles.” For just an instant, I wondered if he was telling the truth. But I couldn’t believe it. I had read a lot about Nox in Professor Tremens diary, and now I had met him, and he was as untrustworthy as I’d expected. I couldn’t bring myself to believe a single word he said.

Still… “You’re right, I haven’t heard a thing about this. What did we do?”

Nox looked me right in the eye for the first time since the conversation had started. After all, one only looks an equal – or at least one worth acknowledging – in the eye, and he thought we were all slugs beneath him. His gaze sent a chill through me; I had thought his eyes were cruel when I looked at them earlier, but now I realized that was the wrong word. His eyes were simply dead, as if he wasn’t human. “Wizard teams were sent to the front lines to act as assault teams against entrenched muggles. It’s quite unheard of. Not only is it, as you are surely aware, completely illegal to interfere in such ways, but it is also unfair to the muggles involved, who cannot hope to defend themselves. Also, I have seen evidence that strongly suggests that wizard assassins have been used.” I thought of the automata of Professor Tremens that had supposedly killed the Minister of Magic in England. That was what she had been charged with, why she was in prison. Of course, from the notes I had seen in her journal, it seemed likely to me that Nox himself had sent that automata assassin. Still, if he could do it, couldn’t we have done so as well? “Some of those attempts were successful, and some were not, but the evidence of the muggle eyewitnesses was irrefutable. If you are interested, perhaps we could discuss this at more length some other time, Ms…?”

“Prince,” I replied, not at all surprised he hadn’t caught my name when the teams were introduced earlier. “Delia Prince.”

“Ms. Prince,” and to my shock, he bowed slightly to me.

Candy launched in to another attack as soon as I didn’t take the floor again, but I wasn’t listening. What had I just started, I wondered uneasily. I could feel him watching me, even with his attention ostensibly on Candy. My heart fluttering, entirely from nerves, I excused myself from the conversation and took a seat on my own, feeling distinctly ill at ease. Soon enough, I was lost in my own thoughts. I didn’t want to believe him, and yet what he said sounded too plausible when I let myself consider it. And, I realized, I’d probably never know the truth. If I found someone in the Ministry who would speak to me of such things, they’d say the exact same thing: the other side started it, we’re simply doing what we must. Were wars always thus?

“Um, Delia?” I gave a start at having my morbid thoughts interrupted. Before me stood Wilifred, eyes tight with concern. “Are you alright? You look pale. I thought you might like a chocolate…” She held out a small, shell-shaped chocolate.

“Thank you,” I tried to smile, though my mind was still on Nox. I could swear I felt him looking my way, though when I looked towards his group he seemed absorbed in the conversation, as arrogant as he had been earlier. I popped the chocolate in my mouth. It was delicious, and a moment later a wave of warmth passed through me, and I felt…good. 

I must have gasped in surprise, for Fred blushed slightly and then smiled. “Oh good, it worked. That’s a new type,” she said uninformatively.

“A new type?”

“Oh! I make chocolates,” she explained inadequately. My confusion showed and she flushed more deeply. “Magical chocolates.”

“I’ve never heard of magical chocolates before,” I was impressed. “How do they work?”

“That would be telling,” she answered with a mischievous grin. “My family have been chocolatiers, and wizards, for generations, but I’m the first to try to mix the two. I want to make a business of it someday. The effects are usually pretty simple, and don’t last terribly long – those that have substantial effects, like the Levitating Lumps, only last about a minute, or as long as the taste of the chocolate is in your mouth. The Refreshing chocolates like the one you just had are a permanent effect, but all they do is make you feel kind of good – in truth, I’m not sure if that was the magic working, or if it’s just a natural effect of chocolate, but it worked alright when I tried them.”

“It worked very well,” I replied, smiling. I really did feel better. “Is it like potion making?” It certainly sounded like it was. I’ll admit, I was intrigued.

“Kind of,” she nodded. “I know you’re good at potions, you’d probably be good at this too. Actually, if you can think of any way to prolong the effects, that would be helpful. I’ve been working on it for a long time but I haven’t had any luck so far.”

“I doubt I’ll think of anything where you haven’t, Fred,” I answered. “You’ve got far more expertise than I do. But I’ll think on it.”

Time passed more quickly with a pleasant conversation partner. As the party proceeded around us, Fred and I talked for a long while. We spoke more on chocolates, and on our families. We joked about going in to business together, me selling potions and her chocolates, and more seriously I gave her what advice I could on selling in the school. She listened avidly, and I listened as attentively to what she was willing to share of her “brewing” techniques for her chocolates. To this day I use some of the methods that she shared with me that day and in later days of our friendship. Fred is truly a gifted brewer and witch; though I wish that she’d used her talents for actual potions instead of chocolates!

Our conversation was winding down when she finally sighed. “I had so hoped to dance,” she said sadly, watching the couples twirling across the ballroom floor. “Reginald had to leave, though he wouldn’t say where.”

“I had been hoping to dance, as well,” I sighed, a mirror to hers. “But Ma…” I caught myself. “But my date, Robert, had to leave as well.”

To my surprise, Fred giggled. “It’s really Marcus, isn’t it?” she asked. I cursed my slip. “Oh, Katrina is going to be so angry when she finds out. She thinks he’s neatly in her pocket, but I’ve been watching and I’m not so sure. He…” she searched for the right word. “…dotes on her when she’s with him, but when she leaves he always seems so frustrated.” The glow these words gave me dwarfed that produced by the chocolate. I fought the urge to ask if he’d ever talked about me, reminding myself, firmly, that what relationship I had with him was only for convenience. Only! “I’ve been watching her, too, and she’s been flirting a lot with Guillermo Patil. I think she’s going to get in to a lot of trouble one of these days.” She paused, a finger on her cheek, looking at me. I thought her eyes might be twinkling. “I also noticed that Marcus has been spending a lot of time with you. And when he leaves those meetings, he’s always smiling.”

I must have blushed to the root of hair. “Do you want to dance?” I asked in a rush. She blinked at me. “Even though we don’t have our gentlemen to dance with us, that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t have a chance to do what we had so hoped for.” I stood, and took her hand, and bowed as formally as I could in a corset. My ribs creaked, but I ignored it. At least my mask didn’t fall off. “Ms. Himmelblau,” I asked formally, making voice as deep as it would go, “may I have this dance?”

“Why, Ms. Prince,” she laughed, “I’m honored, and delighted!” Perfectly timed, a new song began, and she took my hand, and the two of us swept into the waltz, me leading, our skirts sweeping behind us, both laughing.

The other couples looked at us oddly, to say the least; I think the only reason that we were not driven from the dance floor was that we both were actually able to dance, and we certainly appeared to be enjoying ourselves. It was a stately waltz, in truth, so there were few opportunities to add flourishes, and it took me most of the first dance to get used to leading instead of following, but by the end I would say we were dancing as well as any. The next dance was faster paced, which was much more agreeable, and when I asked Fred if she wished to stop, she shook her head emphatically no. So we continued, and at the end of the second, rather breathless, there was a pause.

I did a passable imitation of the bow with which I had started this, and took her hand, kissing it. She laughed. I turned to leave the dance floor and almost crashed into a man who was standing behind me. “Oh, dear, I’m sorry!” I exclaimed, and then felt my exhilaration drain to horror as I realized to whom I spoke.

Pellucid Nox bowed to me – putting my own bows to shame in its elegance – and smiled. “Not at all, I should have waited further back. It is a sad day when there are so few gentlemen that the ladies must dance with each other!” His gaze took in both of us. “I would correct it, if I may…” He looked a question at both of us.

Damnable man! I certainly did not wish to dance with him, but with such a polite offer, there was no way to avoid one of us doing so, and thinking of Fred – sweet, innocent Fred – I couldn’t leave her to dance with this…monster. I didn’t care if what he said might have merit, and I didn’t care how debonair he might be acting, the man was still behind so much evil… I schooled my face to calm and forced my voice to sound enthusiasm. “I would be delighted,” I smiled, and curtsied. My ribs didn’t to mind curtsying as much as they had protested bowing. He proffered his arm to me, and I took it, cursing that I’d been left behind, cursing our dates who had left us behind, cursing the duty that had kept me in the ballroom, and cursing Pellucid Nox. And I smiled.

The music started, a light, happy, lilting waltz, and Nox took a firm lead. I kept my eyes locked on his, for it would have been rude not to, but on the edges of my vision I saw other couples stop, staring. “You dance quite well, Ms. Prince,” he commented. He was still smiling. It sent a chill down my spine. Was he up to something? He danced so confidently.

“You do as well, Headmaster,” I replied.

“I hope I did not upset you with the earlier discussion,” the music sped up, and he followed easily, pulling me along. I felt distinctly inelegant. “You left so abruptly.”

“The war is an uncomfortable topic for us all, I fear,” I couldn’t make myself smile at that. “Earlier this month, a number of students were killed, including friends of mine, in an attack by the muggles.” If not for the necessity of being nice to him, I would have added that they surely knew to attack us thanks to him. I had little evidence to support my belief that he was to blame, yet it made more sense than any alternative. He worked with the muggles, he knew where Hogwarts was, and he wished us ill.

“I’m very sorry to hear that,” he said, not sounding sorry in the least. He didn’t sound surprised, either. He knew exactly what he’d done.

“We’ve been doing our part,” I continued. “Have you heard of the Wizard Armed Patrol?”

“Oh yes,” his eyes flashed, or was it my imagination? “They’ve made quite an impression.” 

“If the English Ministry agreed to withdraw from the war, would you do so as well?”

“We’d have to see,” he replied easily. No, he wouldn’t, his eyes said more loudly. “The sooner this vicious business is ended, the sooner we can go back to our lives.”

“That’s very true. War is scary business, you never know what will happen next,” I combed my brain, wishing I had more practice with innuendo. Years of keeping to myself meant that it was not a skill I had honed. I felt that if I could find the right, subtle questions, I might get some interesting answers. “Reports seem to indicate that the German’s and their allies, the muggles that is, are doing quite well.”

“Indeed.” He was smiling again. “It would be most unsafe for a wizard to interfere at this point. It would endanger them most seriously, I fear, to travel to the continent. Though if information was shared more openly in your community, then some might be protected.” He gave me a considering look.

What on earth did he mean? He certainly meant something! It’s dangerous to go to the continent, but everyone knew that. If information was shared, then they’d be safe? Shared with whom? I missed a step. Nox smiled at me. “Do be careful,” he said.

“I’m not used to these skirts,” I answered as evenly as I could. So Nox might be willing to keep people safe if I gave him information, did he? My interest in the conversation earlier, my asking the things that I did, must have given him the impression that I was sympathetic. Or that I had someone I wanted to protect enough that I would take the chance. Unbidden, my mind flashed to Marcus and I missed another step. That was convenience only! Nox caught me easily, and swept me into a dip just as the music ended. I was quite breathless again, but for completely different reasons this time. Coming back up from the dip, I curtsied, and he bowed. As I rose, I said, “I will consider what you have said.” And Nox smiled at me.

I turned and left the floor with as much dignity as I could muster, and only then did I notice the others present. No other couples were dancing. Everyone stood at the edges of the floor, staring at me or at Nox. Everyone. I blushed bright; it felt like being on a stage. By the staff table, I noticed the Headmaster watching me. He looked concerned. I don’t think I’d ever seen that look on his face before, and it surprised me more than anything that Nox had said.

All I really wanted to do was leave. But the reasons that had brought me here in the first place still held, and I knew I had to stay. Gluing that forced smile back on my face, I joined Fred at the edge of the dance floor. She looked as wide eyed as everybody else. She seemed to search for something to say, opening her mouth several times before closing it again, before she spoke. “You dance very well,” was what she settled on.

“Thank you,” I couldn’t think of anything else to say. The Headmaster was still watching me with that worried look. Nox had left the dance floor, and in his wake, after too long a delay, the music had started again, and slowly couples were making their way out on to the floor. Inadvertently, I glanced around to see where the horrible man had gone, and saw him talking quietly with someone who I couldn’t make out through the crowd. It must have been a student, to be so short. “Excuse me,” I said to Fred. I hadn’t seen Nox speak with any students in such a covert fashion. Except me, I realized unhappily. 

Edging around the crowd, I tried to see who it was he had been speaking to, but it wasn’t until they left that I got a glimpse of who it must have been. Galatea was working her way out of the crowd, and Nox had risen, clearly done with is conversation. Galatea, who was too strong for her size, too heavy, who didn’t remember her early childhood, who knew more about automata than any one I’d ever known except for Professor Tremens herself. Galatea, who I had been starting to think might be the automata based on the “Cherished” designs. Those designs were the work of the Professor when she worked with Pellucid Nox. No, more than that, “Cherished” was Pellucid Nox and Icaria Tremens’ daughter. If I was right, if that was Galatea…I hurried over to meet her. She looked nervous, and the more so when she saw me approaching.

“Oh! Delia,” she said, flustered. “Congratulations on being made Head Girl.” She was eyeing the door as if she wanted nothing more than to leave. Nox must have asked her to do something. How could I convince her that she shouldn’t listen to him?

“Is everything alright, Galatea?” 

“Everything’s fine,” she laughed unconvincingly. “I’m sorry, but I really have to go.” She turned and started to leave. I caught her arm, and was shocked by how solid it was. I couldn’t have stopped her unless she had been willing to stop already.

“I’m just worried,” I explained. I tried to hurry; I wasn’t sure how long she would wait. “Professor Tremens doesn’t trust him. I don’t think we should either.”

She laughed again, and this time it sounded far more genuine. My nerves were having a bad night, as they gave another start. “Everything’s fine,” she said again, more firmly. She pulled away from my grip as if I was an invalid. “I really do have to go.” And she left the ballroom. I almost followed her. But I thought of the school’s image, and how it would look, and I stayed. How I wish I hadn’t!

I turned back to the ballroom, and was pleased to see that during my brief conversation things had returned to normal. Fred had trailed behind me a little ways, and I went to join her. Couples swirled in a complex set dance, Candy harangued Nox, and the Headmaster had gone back to looking angrily at all of the people having fun. Just how the ball should be.

“Sorry,” I apologized to Fred, “I’m just a little worried about her.”

She hurriedly explained that it was no problem, and we went back to talking. After a little while, I noticed something was distracting her. Her eyes kept flickering, just for a moment, to one of the talking groups. Supposing that she wanted to join them, I excused myself from our conversation and went to get a little food though I had little appetite. It made a good escape, and sure enough, Fred very timidly approached the group. I knew only one of the students in it, a tall Ravenclaw in his last year named Elliot. The rest were Gryffindors, none of whom I know, all clustered around Ramjit Singh, the very handsome Care of Magical Creatures Professor, and the head of Gryffindor. To my amazement, it was to him that Fred addressed herself, all blushes. At first, he shook his head no to whatever she asked, but as a new song began, he sighed he acquiesced, and Fred pulled him out onto the dance floor to the jeers and smiles of the students watching. She looked so elated, I couldn’t help but smile.

I jumped slightly when a hand settled gently on my arm. Surely no day full of shocks could be good for a young woman’s health, I reprimanded myself, thinking of the absurdity of jumping at so silly a thing. “Yes?” I asked, turning to see who was beside me.

The Headmaster stood there, brow furrowed. “Ms. Prince, are you well?” he asked. At least his voice still sounded almost as stern as normal. Almost.

I nodded. “Yes, Headmaster, I’m quite well.” I tried to sound as if I meant it. It was harder than it should have been.

“I was only…” he swallowed and said no more. “Of course,” he said, and his voice truly was as stern as normal. The concerned look faded, as well. “If you have any…difficulties,” he glared at Nox, who was looking at Candy as if seeing a worm that he might need to tread on, “don’t hesitate to let me know. I should never have agreed to let that man in to my school.” Abruptly, he blinked, looking faintly surprised. I had the feeling he hadn’t meant to say that last bit, at least not to a student.

“I do not like him,” I agreed fiercely.

“I expect you to practice hard,” he continued firmly. “It is imperative that Hogwarts win the Quidditch match.”

“We will, Headmaster,” I said confidently, and he smiled slightly.

“Do be careful, Ms. Prince,” he said with a hint of the concern he’d shown before, and he left, with me staring after him in wonder. The Headmaster never spoke tenderly to a student – I’d never heard him speak tenderly to anyone except for Auror Weasley – and he never showed concern. Contempt and anger, as he had expressed towards Headmaster Nox, were not terribly uncommon, but worry? I laughed, for I realized that I was worried about him being worried about mee.

And so the evening passed.

The hour was growing late, and the ball was winding down, when I noticed students slipping in one by one. First were the students from Durmstrang, looking even more foul and angry than they had earlier. Then, most of the students whose absences I had been unable to explain slipped in, the WAP boys – including Marcus, I was relieved to see – and the other members of the Quidditch team. Within short order, all save those who had gone to help Professor Tremens’ had returned. Judging by the furious looks that the Durmstrang students shot at the Hogwarts students, and the smug looks that they got in return, it was clear that they had been in the same place, and that Hogwarts had come out the better in whatever they had been about. Marcus smiled my way, and I smiled back, but then Katrina shot me a nasty look – I was mildly irritated to see that she had returned as well – and took his arm and pulled him towards the dance floor. He smiled back. And danced with her. I ground my teeth.

It was later still when Aya and Maya Lunari came in, followed by an exhausted looking Celestine. The twins immediately went about trying to enliven the party, which had truly been tired, and Celestine came to me.

I looked my question at her, without asking, for there were too many others around and I feared she would get in trouble. She nodded in reply, and I sighed in relief. “She’s alright?” I asked aloud, just to be sure, and Celestine nodded again. “And you’re alright?” Nod. “Thank God.”

The evening continued much later than I ever would have thought, new life breathed in to it by the return of the students who hadn’t gotten to enjoy it earlier. I pitied the musicians before the Headmaster finally sent us all to bed firmly. Those of us who had been there the entire time were, by and large, too tired to do more, and we lingered on the edges of the room talking and watching our friends. I’m certain I wasn’t the only one who stayed in the hopes of hearing some word about what had taken place with the Durmstrang students, but no one was forthcoming for all that we asked. I admitted guiltily to myself that I lingered, too, in the hopes that Marcus – no, Robert Black – might yet dance with me; at least it would remove the lingering sour feeling left from dancing with Nox. But for all that Marcus occasionally shot desperate looks in my direction, he didn’t leave Katrina’s side, and there was no way that I could interject myself between Katrina and her date. I was growing increasingly angry watching it all, and was relieved when the Headmaster called an end to the evening.


	7. The Inter-School Quidditch Competition

The next day was dizzily busy. The Quidditch match was to be held on Monday, and with only the weekend left to prepare, with all the weight that rested on us winning, I hardly stepped on firm ground the entire day. We skipped lunch, and it was only begrudgingly that we all acknowledged the need for dinner. As if we weren’t all about to fall off of our brooms from hunger! Sereminia grumbled that we couldn’t win the match if we got broomstick sores, but she didn’t argue when we agreed to continue practicing on Sunday, either. 

Dinner was every bit as impressive as it had been at the ball. An extra table had been set up for the Durmstrang students, and the house elves went above and beyond to impress our guests. They didn’t look impressed – they looked as arrogant as they had the previous day – but they ate heartily and took double and triple portions. Meanwhile, whispers among the students spoke of some sort of adventure in the dungeons the previous night. It suggested to me that this was the kernel of truth, and my curiosity grew. What had the Durmstrang students wanted in the dungeon? No, I realized, that was not the question. What did Pellucid Nox know was in the dungeons that he wanted badly enough to send his students to get it for him? I frowned, eyeing the room angrily. Why was I left out of everything?!

Next to me, a little Hufflepuff I didn’t know jumped and squeaked. “I’m sorry, Head Girl,” he stammered. I continued to frown, and he blushed. “I was told to give this note to you!” He shoved the note into my face, let it go – it fluttered into my lap – and turned and fled. Did I truly look that scary? I couldn’t possibly! The frown fell away and I chuckled, picking up the note.

It was from Marcus. “Ms. Prince,” it read, “if you are free tomorrow evening I would very much enjoy your company for a dinner. 7 PM. If you can join me, look my way after reading this and nod.” I laughed again. Why hadn’t he just come and asked me? Still, I looked up, found him at the Hufflepuff table – he was glancing towards me, I noticed, looking worried, and completely ignoring Katrina, who seemed to be desperately trying to get his attention. I smiled, and I nodded. He looked relieved, and went back to eating, but he didn’t stop ignoring Katrina. I smiled even more widely, and forgot completely, at least for the moment, about Pellucid Nox, Durmstrang, Quidditch, and all of my other troubles. Life wasn’t all bad, at least.

Quidditch practice on Sunday was as brutal and exhausting as it had been on Saturday, and by the time we came in I was considering going to Marcus and telling him I simply couldn’t. Eating seemed like too much trouble. All I wanted to do was sleep. Still, he must have done a fair amount of work to put together some sort of dinner for us, and it would be wrong to beg off now. I was running late, but it couldn’t be helped; I trudged to the Ravenclaw common room, changed in to the nicest comfortable outfit I could find and hurried – well, continued to trudge – to our usual meeting place in the secret room.

The approach was as dusty and disused as ever, and so I was all the more shocked when I walked in to the formerly ramshackle room. Where before, it had been bare bones, now it fairly gleamed. The walls were polished wood and glowed with the reflecting light of white and blue fairy lights, the fairies flitting around the ceiling showing off their coloring. The table had a thick carpet and a fireplace had somehow been added to one wall; a fire flickered merrily, fighting off the early November chill that now pervaded the castle every evening. The table was covered by a satin blue table cloth and held two lanterns in which sat several fairies each, all looking sullenly at their friends who were flying freely. There were several dishes laid out and the delicious smell of some sort of sweet meat sauce was enough to make me glad that I’d come. The room seemed bigger than I recalled, as well, for now it wasn’t dominated by the table. There was a large clear space between it and the fireplace. On a side board sat the strangest looking horn-thing I had ever seen, tapering to a point near a box of sorts, winding and widening out to a large bell. Marcus, in what must have been his best robes, was fiddling with this box, and didn’t notice my arrival. I took the opportunity to hurriedly try to fix my hair and smooth my dress. I should have worn something nicer. Inexplicably, my heart was pounding. I tried to make it be calm, but I couldn’t for the life of me and a slow flush rose in my cheeks. Oh, how silly I was, for I had no idea whatsoever of what could be the matter with me.

“Excuse me,” said a high pitched voice behind me, and I moved to allow a house elf, bearing another tray, to come inside. Marcus turned, thinking he was the one being spoken to, and gave a start.

“Delia!” he exclaimed, looking flustered. “I didn’t hear you arrive. I’m so sorry for not greeting you.”

“I was quiet,” I replied, “and didn’t announce myself. If any impropriety has been done, it was surely mine for such rudeness.” A slight feeling of illness in my stomach now battled with my hunger. How could the man set me so on edge?

“Well, you’re here now, and I know you are, so I’m prepared to ignore the breach of etiquette if you are,” he laughed, and I joined him. He moved over to one of the chairs and pulled it out for me. “Normally, I’d make small talk first, but after practicing so long I imagine you are very hungry, so perhaps we should eat dinner?” 

“That sounds splendid,” I smiled, settling in to the chair. I truly was ravenous, I realized, and perhaps eating the meal would give me time to gather my frustratingly scattered wits.

During the meal, Marcus talked animatedly about his family. I was quiet. It wasn’t that my attention was mostly on the food, though that was a piece of it. I love my family very much, but I’m very different from them. Marcus’ family, on the other hand, sounded wonderful, over the top, care free. I’d never been exposed to purebloods like that. Finally, though I couldn’t dodge him when he asked about my family. 

“Oh, well, they’re very much how you’d expect,” I hedged. I realized I’d have to say more, though – Marcus would probably expect them to be like his family! “My mother is a socialite, she loves attending parties and gatherings. My father, he prefers going to his club. They’re very interested in…” I paused. I realized I’d never before had to come up with a polite way of saying that my parents were muggle-hater’s before. “They feel very strongly about the importance of heritage. My brother has been building a career in the Ministry, and my parents have high hopes.” I tried to think of something more to say. Surely there must be something else? After all the delightful anecdotes that Marcus could produce about his family and siblings and uncles and aunts, I was ashamed that such a paltry description seemed to be the best that I could come up with. I shrugged uncomfortably. “So what happened in the dungeon on Friday?” I asked, feeling keenly the need to change the subject.

“Oh! Well, a bunch of us noticed the Durmstrangs sneaking out, and thought that was mighty suspicious, so we followed them. I didn’t want to go,” he added with a frown, “but Katrina virtually pulled me along after her. She seemed to think that telling me I must be as brave as Guillermo and Caius, who were going, would draw me along.” He shook his head in wonder. “They went to the dungeon, and we were able to piece together what they were after and get it first. It was a mirror, about this big,” he made an oval with his hands about the size of a head, “and as far as I could tell it’s perfectly normal. We haven’t figured out what it does yet, but it must do something – it was very well hidden, and the Durmstrangs really wanted it.”

“Hmm…” I tried to think if I knew of any magical mirrors, but nothing came to mind other than fairy tales. “I don’t know. I can do some research if you like.”

Marcus shook his head. “You have enough on your plate, don’t worry about it. What did you do that evening? I saw you head out so early!”

“Oh, I came back soon enough,” I smiled cheerful. I was surprised to realize that I no longer felt bitter about being left behind. It was simply the way things had happened. “After I gave the key to Celestine, she and the others headed to Azkaban, and I stayed at the ball trying to make it appear as if half the student body hadn’t wandered off.” There was no rancor in my voice, and Marcus smiled apologetically.

“Sorry about that.”

“Oh, it’s quite alright. I had a nice time.”

“Fred told me,” he started. He was frowning slightly, and he paused, unsure how to proceed. “Fred told me that you danced with Pellucid Nox?”

I blushed. Why on earth was I blushing? It wasn’t as if I’d wanted to dance with him! “Yes, well, he asked me, and it would have been rude to say no.”

“He didn’t hurt you, or do anything to you, did he?” asked Marcus seriously. I blushed further under the intensity that he directed at me. My heart started to flutter again. 

“Nothing like that, no.”

“Good,” he sounded relieved. “You need to be careful of that man! I haven’t told you about the first WAP mission, have I?” I shook my head. “We went to assault a castle on the Continent, being held by a man who was definitely an ally of Nox. All manner of automata – built by Nox himself, Professor Patronius believes – were guarding it, and they were doing vile experiments.”

“Experiments?” I couldn’t quite prevent my curiosity from spilling out.

“Yes,” for a moment, good manners warred with something I couldn’t define as he tried to decide what to say. “I’m only telling you so you’ll know what we’re up against and be careful. They were doing experiments on creating werewolves and controlling them. On innocent children! It seemed clear they wish to use them in combat, and were trying to induce them to wolf form even when the moon is not full. We managed to bring back one of the devices they were using for control, or trying to use, and it’s a nasty bit of work. That’s the sort of thing that Nox is responsible for! I don’t think you should associate with him anymore.”

“I can take care of myself,” I said a little harshly, and then I lowered my gaze, embarrassed. “I’m sorry. It wasn’t as if I wanted to spend time with him last night. I had little choice. I have every intention of avoiding him in the future.”

“Excellent. Enough of this. We should talk on more pleasant subjects.” He paused, considering. His eyes flickered to the strange device, and then back to the table. The house elves began clearing away dinner and placing a small dessert before us. 

“Seeing as this is your last year at Hogwarts,” I asked, landing on a suitable topic, “what are your plans for the future?”

“I’m hoping to be a teacher,” he replied, “indeed, my aspiration are to not leave Hogwarts at all, but return to teach some position or other. I’d like Charms, I think. It’s my best subject.”

“Why a teacher?” it had never occurred to me to want to do something as…the only word I could think of was mundane…as teaching.

“I just think it would be wonderful, to work with students and help them and support their efforts, to see them move on and succeed. It would be like having a family, only so much more so,” he continued in this vein enthusiastically for several minutes, and I was glad of the time, for I had blushed furiously the moment he spoke of having a family. It must have been my imagination, for I thought that for an instant he looked at me as he said that. “What about you?”

“Huh?” My brain was still on families.

“What do you wish to do? I know you still have several years left.”

“I haven’t thought about it at all,” I confessed. “I expect my parents will have a marriage arranged for me before that time, and I’ll almost certainly end up on some fine gentleman pureblood’s arm at social events, smiling and gushing.” I was aghast with myself. Had I truly said that aloud? Was there any way I could correct myself? “That is,” I groped for a more appropriate thing to say, “even in this modern age I would be content to be a wife and raise a family.” The blush rose in my cheeks. That was no better! “I mean, I really don’t know.” I finished, utterly lamely.

“You shouldn’t be ‘just a wife’ if you don’t wish to be,” Marcus frowned. “And you should not have to marry who your parents say. What would you want to do?”

“I…” I knew, after a fashion, what I’d want to do, but no husband would ever allow it. Normally, propriety would say I wouldn’t even speak of it. Yet, somehow, sitting there with Marcus, having just made the tremendous social gaff of speaking of being a trophy wife, I couldn’t help but feel that propriety could be damned. “I’d love to own a business,” I said enthusiastically. “You may not have heard, but I sell potions on the side here at Hogwarts. I know it’s terribly immodest to say, but I am very good at brewing. I would love to open a shop in London. There are truly so many useful applications for potions, but so many people neglect their brewing skills in favor of household charms or flashy transfigurations to impress their friends. I think that I could make a lot of money that way, and I think it’d be wonderful to try.”

“You should,” Marcus echoed my enthusiasm. My jaw dropped. Women do not go in to business, my father’s words echoed in my head. He’d been aghast when he learned how I afforded my school things. My mother had fainted – a daughter of hers reduced to working was the most horrifying thing she could conceive of. And Marcus thought it was a good idea. “You’re the best potion maker I’ve ever seen – I’m two years ahead of you, but it still takes me twice as long and three times the effort to do in Advanced Potions what you seem to do without half trying.”

“Thank you,” I stammered. My cheeks were going to change to that color permanently if I didn’t get my blushes under control.

An awkward silence fell for a few moments as the house elves came and took the dessert plates. I hardly noticed what I’d eaten while we’d been talking. Then, Marcus jumped up and turned to his device. While he was fiddling with it, he said, all in a rush, “so, I know this is forward of me, and I shouldn’t even be asking, but I promised you that I’d dance with you at the ball on Friday, and then I didn’t do so, and I thought, if you were interested,” the device made a strange scratchy sound, “that is, if you wanted to, and didn’t think it was too forward, that maybe I could make it up to you, and we could dance.”

“We haven’t any music,” I objected. My heart had leapt at the very suggestion; now it pounded some place in the vicinity of my throat. The scratchy sound, on cue it seemed, suddenly became the sound of a single violin, and then a flute joined in, playing a slow waltz. I looked at the device in wonder. “What a fantastic bit of magic! It makes music?”

“Not magic,” Marcus turned back to me. He was grinning broadly, and I thought that in the fairy light he looked as red as I must have been. “It’s a muggle device called a phonograph.”

“Amazing!” So we had music. So I had to answer. In that case…I stood up with as much stately grace as I could. “Then I would very much like to dance with you.” I paused a heartbeat. There was something I wanted to say, and while I’d said it before, I had been avoiding the word. It, too, was very forward. Yet he had taken such a chance by asking me, and he deserved to know that I truly wanted this. “That would be nice, Marcus.” It felt like I’d never said his name before. I must have done so, I supposed, but it felt brand new.

He took my hand, and put his arm around my waist for the waltz. “I’m honored…Delia.” I had never thought my name would sound so special. It almost brought tears to my eyes. I was spared responding as the waltz went up to tempo, and we began to dance in tight circles on our improvised dance floor.

I cannot help but feel that to attempt a full description of the dancing of the evening would be to profane one of my dearest and most precious memories. I could, I suppose, speak at length on it. I could comment on how my feet seemed to scarcely touch the floor, and I thought that Marcus must surely be the best dancer in my – granted limited – experience. I could discuss how I never even noticed the size of the floor, and not until later did it dawn on me that the house elves had removed the table. I could say with smiles how at one point Marcus lifted me, and set me down with a enough force that the phonograph then repeated the same few bars of song for a minute before we could figure out how to make it stop. I could attempt to describe how, staring in to Marcus’ eyes, I sensed a depth of feeling, a devotion, that took my breath away. However, none of this could do even the most simple justice to the event. Suffice it to say that, looking back with the perfect hindsight of many years, that evening changed my life.

How much later it was when we stopped I could not say. I felt as light on my feet and as fresh as if I hadn’t spent the entire day on a broomstick or the past unknown minutes – or hours – dancing. Yet the time must surely have been late, and so we said our goodbyes. My mind was all awhirl, and I barely knew where I walked, but I was scarcely to the end of the dusty hallway when Marcus called me.

“I have forgotten to tell you the most important part,” he said apologetically, and it occurred to me to suppose that he must be as flustered as I felt. “This very afternoon, Katrina, apparently much frustrated with my behavior since the ball, demanded to know if I intended to continue to court her, and what my intentions were.” I think my heart stopped. “I told her,” Marcus was looking at me intensely, and my heart resumed, now with a desperate fluttering as if racing to catch up to what it had missed. “Under absolutely no circumstance did I intend to pursue that which she had forced on me. I also made sure she understood that I intended to spend my attentions on you.” He frowned with concern. “I’m afraid I was unbearably rude to her, but then she was hardly polite to me in the manner of her request, and she has said some truly low things concerning you in the past days as well, that I hope can be some excuse for my behavior.” I tried to reply, to tell him that it was no great matter, but I could find no words. A surge of triumph filled my being. I had been competing with Katrina for weeks now, and I had won. The prize had been Marcus’ attention, and I had won. Almost immediately, the triumph faded, replaced with the strangest sense of dread, self-reproach, and horror. It was all I could do to keep from crying on the spot. Marcus seemed the more out of sorts by my inexplicable response, and I pulled myself together enough to make polite good evenings, and began the walk back to the Ravenclaw common room in much reduced spirits.

How, then, to explain how such good news could have resulted in such a change in my good humor. At first, I could not come up with an explanation of any kind. I should be elated – indeed, for a scant moment or two I had been elated, before the emotion faded into bleakness. I had triumphed. Marcus was as good as mine. And in that thought, I think, lay the heart of my despair. Marcus felt genuine affection for me, surely he must, and I had deceived him and used him in the most unworthy fashion imaginable. With no thought but my own convenience, my own selfish desires, I had seduced the heart of a good and decent man. For he truly was such; all of the features that had drawn me to him as a “good enough” companion spoke to his worthiness of affection. He was smart, and handsome. He was brave, noble, well spoken, sweet and eloquent. He was caring and concerned and loyal. And I had used him, used him horribly, entirely so that I would not have the inconvenience of an arranged marriage. I was no better than Katrina! No, I thought bleakly, I was far worse than Katrina. Her pursuit, while just as false as mine, was at least predicated on a respect for his good qualities, on his handsomeness and the fact that he had rescued her from a terrible fate. I did not have that defense. I would have asked anyone with Marcus’ lineage to the Ball as long as they were not of that most odious of pure-blooded mindsets, because by asking I preserved my right to choose which my parents thought to deny me. I had known nothing of Marcus’ good qualities when I had asked him, and, I knew in my heart, I don’t think it would have mattered to me had he in fact been of a cad. 

All of this caused me to take nothing but bitter unhappiness from my triumph. All of this caused me to see with the rankness of irony the situation I had created. After this evening, I could delude myself no longer that this was an arrangement of pure convenience. He felt affection for me, and, may I be cursed for it, I felt what I feared was even more deep than affection for him. The symptoms that must surely have been obvious to anyone reading this narrative had, in the course of dancing, finally made themselves known to me. I was in love with him, firmly, unswervingly, and devotedly. And that love would not permit me to leave him in ignorance of what had first drawn me to him. I resolved that at the next possible opportunity, I would acquaint him with my ignoble pursuit, assign him my judge, and hope only that he could in time forgive me for my selfish crime. In one evening, I had gone from the very heights of joy to the very depths of wretchedness. Ignoring the calls of support from my housemates – wishes for luck in the Quidditch game to occur the next day – I marched directly to my bed, threw myself upon it, and cried until sleep finally overcame me. 

Oh, to be young! When I awoke the next morning, I realized I had slept rather later than I had intended, and was surprised that no one had woken me. I had missed breakfast, but this was fine with me. I had gotten a very good rest, and I felt worlds better than I had the previous night. Indeed, no longer exhausted and shocked, I managed to convince myself with remarkable ease that I had been a silly ninny, that everything was wonderful, that I’d had a very nice night, that I had beaten Katrina and that was cause for celebration, and all in all I had rebounded fully to happiness. How incredibly silly I had been, thinking that I - I couldn’t even bring the word in to my head to give it credit! – that I had such strong feelings towards Marcus. I told myself I was far too calm and rational a person for such things, but that I now had a fine tool with which to leverage my parents, and, blushing, I wondered when I might get to spend another such wonderful evening with him. At the thought of tools, the voice that had spoken so loudly the previous night did give a spasm and start to whisper. Determined to ignore it, I went to find some food, for the Quidditch match was at noon, and if I did not eat now I would not get to eat before it.

I had not been in the hallways long when a Gryffindor boy I did not know came and, with all possible stealth, passed me a letter. In Marcus’ hand, it said my name on the outside.

“Dear Delia,” it read, “I very much enjoyed the dance we had a chance to make up for. And congratulations on officially becoming Head Girl, as I don’t believe I have said so already. I was giving some thought to some of the things you told me about in regards to your situation at home. In light of that, I thought I might ask you to stay with my family at Whitebrook, our estate, for the holidays. It can be a very busy location this time of year and I fear that not all of my relatives are the most formal of individuals, but I am certain they would be delighted to meet you, and, for that matter, to have someone else to press food upon. I don’t mean to seem improper or imply insult to your family, and I hope this offer gives no offense and is taken in the light it is meant in. Consider it, if you would, as an entirely selfish request for your company during a whimsical time of year.

“I am sorry we have not had as much time to spend together as would be preferable. Between WAP sessions, classes and prefect duties…well, I am quite certain you have some empathy for the situation. I have managed to clear out some time on Saturday afternoon, and I thought perhaps you might like to join me for a flight around grounds? The forest looks very pretty from above this time of year. I think we may be able to catch it before the leaves fall.

“It is a rather unfortunate limitation on notes that they make one seems as though they are in fact doing all of the talking. Perhaps I might be so bold as to solicit a similarly talkative response?”  
And it was signed, simply, “Marcus.” From the folds of the letter, a small charm, gold and etched with the words, “for luck” slipped out. I smiled, and placed the charm carefully in my pocket.

All thoughts of food forgotten, I turned straight around to write a reply, humming a tune that even I did not recognize at the time as one to which I had danced the previous evening.

“Dear Marcus,” I wrote quickly, for I had increasingly little time before the match, “I would love to go to your home for the holidays! I must seek my parents’ permission first, of course, for I’m sure they will want to be assured that there is no hint of impropriety to the situation, but I don’t expect that they will say no. Indeed, I will use every tool at my command to ensure that they say yes, for I very much want to go! If, though, it turns out that we cannot arrange for me to visit, we must find a time to meet soon before, for I have thoughts on the topic of gifts, and it would be most grieving to not be able to present a present in person.

“I certainly know what you mean about busy schedules, it’s a wonder to me that I find the time to allow my potions to properly brew, I spend so much time running from obligation to obligation. I wonder how we found ourselves in this position?

“A nice fly sounds delightful, the perfect way to get away from the school – and all the duties that being at the school entails – for at least a few hours. A leisurely flight would be excellent, for it will, I imagine, take our minds off things. I have never viewed the Forest from above. Is it safe?

“Never fear that you are talking too much, I truly love to hear from you. I wonder if there will be a time when we are able to relax and spend time together without any other concerns on our minds? I look forward to such a day.

“Affectionately, Delia.”

And, for better or for worse, I sent by owl this terribly imprudent letter without giving a thought to how very forward I had been!

I wished then to write my parents at once, but I hadn’t the time, and so I grabbed my things for the Quidditch match and hurried to the pitch to get ready. Food was completely forgotten, for a sudden nervousness – a complete and utter terror, even – had settled on me so completely that food was the farthest thing from my mind. The Ball and Marcus and Galatea and all manner of things had forced my nerves aside, but now that the match was upon us, I felt them all the more, ten times, one hundred times more than I’d ever felt nerves before. You’d have thought I’d never before played a game of Quidditch, never before even sat on a broom, with how nervous I felt at the prospect of playing Keeper. Any hope of support from the others was quickly dashed, for as I joined them in the locker room, I saw on their faces that they felt as I did. Tight lipped, gray faced, set expressions, we all dressed in our robes for the match mechanically and then lined up.

The day was overcast and ominous, and the winds were frankly treacherous, coming in unexpected bursts that pierced the locker rooms and left us shivering and afraid of how it would affect our flying. Above us, we could hear the ever-growing swell of the crowds as noon approached. There was surely no way that the assembled students could make so much noise, and I wondered, nauseously, how many other people had come and who they were.  
Reginald was far enough disturbed that he peaked outside, and when he looked back towards us his face was distinctly green. “Ohhhh,” he moaned.

“What’s the matter, cousin?” asked Serminia. She looked, I thought, almost as if his pain brought her some amount of pleasure, and I dismissed that thought. Even for a Slytherin, that surely could not be the case. “Are you going to be sick?” She glanced out of the tent herself, and when she looked back the haughty expression on her face had been replaced by one not unlike Reginald’s expression.

“One of the Durmstrangs – that really tall one – told me that he was going to pop my head off like a mushroom cap.” His eyes were very wide, and it looked like all he could do not to vomit on the spot

“Hmph,” Serminia replied, seeming to regain some of her composure, “I won’t let him do that. You’re MINE.”

Wondering at this astonishing exchange, I resisted the urge to eye the crowd myself. If I saw them now, perhaps I wouldn’t simply faint dead away when I went outside and saw them in a few minutes. Before I could enact this plan, a trumpet blared loudly outside and the cheering grew to new levels. 

A shrill, piercing voice cut through that and silenced it in an instant. “I, Eratas, Snitch of Yore, have come to witness and direct this Tourney, in form of the most Ancient Game of Cuchuddach, now given the Vulgar name Quidditch. Deeds unbefitting of a Knight…er…Player will be dealt with most harshly, and it shall go Most Ill with the Malfeasants. But never forget: Glory goes to the Bold! Let the Players enter the field, and the Game Begin!”

Urgently, in a corner, I heard the Lunaris explaining something to Lydia; all I caught were the words, “think round, not gold,” before Magnus Ogilvie – our usual Quidditch announcer – spoke in a voice that filled the entire arena. “May I present Phineas’ favorite, the Priestess of Potions, and newly appointed Head Girl, Hogwarts Keeper…” I mounted my broom – bright red, brand new, a gift from Serminia’s family for the match – and kicked off, flying out above the crowd as Ogilvie finished. “…Delia Prince!!!” The roar was almost great enough to knock me from my broom. What a crowd it was! Every student from the school who wasn’t on a team was there, of course, but they barely began to fill the seats. There were adults, a sea of color filling every row of the stadium, filling the rows that – I noticed for the first time – had been added to accommodate them. I wondered desperately why the Keeper was always the first team member announced. Out there by myself, I felt the weight of all those eyes on me with terror.

It was either a minute or forever while Ogilvie announced the others with as much pomp and circumstance as he had announced me, and then the entire team was assembled on one end of the arena, followed soon after by the Durmstrang students, who looked even larger and scarier on broomsticks than they had on the ground. We lined up, facing each other, and then the strangest snitch I had ever seen – if it could be called a snitch – flew out between us. It was large and spiked, with wyvern-like wings instead of the delicate ones of a modern snitch. It spoke in a high pitched voice that I recognized as that of “Eratas, snitch of yore.” It didn’t speak now, though – instead, it presented the quaffle, and in moments the match had begun.

I immediately turned and flew to maintain my post as keeper, and so I missed the early action. I had only just turned around, though, when I was knocked so hard that tears welled from my eyes and I nearly fell from my broom. A bludger had taken me full in the back of the head, and while I tried to regain my balance, Mathilde, a Durmstrang chaser, put the quaffle easily through the hoop – though not before kicking Reginald in the face when he tried to stop her. Ogilvie waxed eloquently, the crowd moaned, and I felt bitterly disappointed in myself, the moreso because my head would not stop swimming and the ground seemed to occasionally be above me. At least, I noticed as I got my sense of direction back, Maya had managed to hit Mathilde with a bludger.

It was an inauspicious start to the match and things did not get better from there. Aya got the quaffle, passed to Serminia and back again, as the Durmstrangs followed. It looked like they might succeed – helped by a marvelous save by Reginald – until Ubelwalt, the 8 foot tall Beater, sent a bludger at the lot of them, forcing them to scatter. Aya would probably have been killed had not Reginald darted in front of her and taken the full force of the bludger at nearly point blank range. He was knocked unconscious instantaneously, and tumbled limply from his broom.  
“Impedimenta!” the Headmaster’s voice echoed through the stadium as he arrested Reginald’s fall mere feet from the ground, and a brief break was called as Professor Potts hurried out on to the field, clutching her hat against the wind, followed by Merith and Candy, to administer first aid and – finding him unrevivable – place Reginald’s body on a stretcher. We were down a player!

I had little time to think about that, for in moments the quaffle was coming back towards our hoops, and Silberholz was moving towards me fast. Suddenly, another bludger struck me in the arm. I moved to block Silberholz despite the pain, but he passed it to Gregor Langhaar, who scored. “Fraulein,” Silberholz saluted me with a smirk. My arm smarted, and I could do nothing but stare hatred at both of them, even as the bludger came towards me again.  
Suddenly, a vast roar filled the stadium, and I saw Lars, the little (if only relatively) Durmstrang seeker – diving. Lydia’s scream of “no!” was loud enough to fill the stadium as she tried to catch up, but she was too late, and Lars was swooping up with a face filled with triumph. I felt so utterly disgusted, so disappointed in myself in particular, that I almost burst in to tears – the crowd had gone silent in shock that it was all over so quickly – and so everyone heard as Lars gave a howl of pain, shaking his hand. A fairy, glowing brightly now, golden, flapped her wings in an affronted fashion before flying off. Ogilvie’s laughter filled the stadium, and he wasn’t the only one. 

What I have said so far gives far too good an idea of how the match was to proceed for some time afterwards. The Durmstrangs did not play fair and did not care when penalties were assessed against them. The Beaters had no compunction about launching bludgers in attack at any of us, and one of their favorite strategies was to attack me while attempting to score. This strategy had the unfortunate bonus of being highly effective; pain was an efficient way to distract me from my duties as keeper, and my growing sense of shame didn’t help. After hours of play, the score stood at 120 points for Durmstrang while Hogwarts – unwilling to respond effectively to such an onslaught – scored merely 10. Acutely, I felt that this was my fault.

A break was called after four hour and I got down dejectedly. My hands were numb from the cold, my legs cramped from gripping my broomstick against every jolt that I had to resist when bludgers hit me, and my body ached all over from the merciless attacks. I had lost count of how many times I had been hit at 10. Maya Lunari and Deletrious tried to defend me, but even that extra care had been insufficient, and the looks of sympathy they sent my way now were appreciated but hardly enough to make up for the pain I was in. Fighting back tears, I made my way to the Hospital Tent, hoping that something could be done. At least they could stop the bleeding from the handful of times that the balls had struck hard enough to break the skin.

Reginald was awake, I saw as I went in, with Merith tending him, her eyes closed as she performed some sort of strange magic, involving gestures and such, over the huge contusion that the bludger had left on Reginald’s head. Professor Potts hurried over to me and began to fuss, but for all the noise that she made there seemed to be little she could do. Behind a curtain, she had me remove my robes – even that was difficult! – and I was literally covered in contusions, cuts, bumps, and angry purple bruises. I lamented to imagine that, given how much they hurt now, I should be quite unable to move the next day. I cursed whichever of the Durmstrangs had decided that a good strategy would be to attack me in particular. Professor Potts fussed, but she had me put my robes back on. I assured her that under no condition would I withdraw from the match, and though she did what she could, I knew that it would not abate the pain that I felt. She settled me on a cot, and told me to rest for the remainder of the time out.

I was staring intently at the tip of the Professor’s wand – she was checking my eyes for some reason or other – when I heard the tent flap move. “May I come in?” asked Marcus, sounding utterly worried. The professor nodded, and he came over to me, sitting beside me on the cot, offering strong and silent sympathy. I smiled wanly.

It was mere moments later when the flap moved again, and we all looked over to see Dietrich Ubelwalt, one of the two beaters who was to blame for my condition, bending nearly double in order to enter the tent. “If…you will permit?” he asked humbly. He glanced at me, and at Reginald, and started to move over to the little Gryffindor.

“What, coming to finish what you started?” I demanded, with all the anger that I felt, all the pain he had caused me and Reginald.

He stopped, and turned back towards me. His expression mystified me, for he looked…well, he looked truly worried. “No,” he rumbled sadly, “I come to see if he is alright.” Reginald smiled, though he looked terrified, and gave a weak thumbs up. “Very brave, what you did,” continued Ubelwalt, “Also, perhaps…very stupid. But brave. I am glad you are not dead. I am sorry to hit you so hard.” It was strange to hear the huge man apologize as if he wasn’t quite sure what an apology was but he was very certain that he meant to give one. Though I was hardly prepared to be sympathetic, I looked at him in wonder. He started to move towards me and continued. “I am also sorry I hit you so hard. That I…continue to hit you hard. You are so small,” he added, all gentleness, cupping a hand around the side of my face that was nearly the size of my head. My eyes must have been as wide as tea saucers, I was so taken aback.

I didn’t have a clue how to react, but I was spared coming up with anything by Marcus. He stood up, looking furious, and forcibly interjected himself between Ubelwalt and myself. “That’s enough,” he snapped, his voice tight with anger. “You’ve done more than enough here already.” And he glared at Ubelwalt until the huge man, still sympathetic, and a little bewildered by his own sympathy, ducked back out of the tent, glancing behind himself repeatedly.

Marcus sat with me quietly the whole time. Once Ubelwalt had left, his good humor seemed restored, and he was all supportive smiles, holding my hand pleasantly, and I was glad to be able to think of something other than how much every little movement hurt and how little I wished to ever mount another broomstick. All too soon, Reginald and I were hustled from our pallets and out onto the pitch for the resumption of the match.

The crowd greeted the beginning of the second round with considerably less enthusiasm than they had greeted the first. There was little cheering, and though I couldn’t make out facial expressions, there was a pervasive sense of oppression. The exception to this was the area to my left down the pitch, in which rows sat the small but incredibly vocal contingent of Durmstrang supporters. For their part, they cheered very loudly indeed, and the more underhanded the action of the Durmstrang players, the more the whooped with glee.

I had been giving some thought to how to counter their strategy in regards to myself – which is to say, hitting me with the bludger until I couldn’t respond, faking me out with two chasers so that I couldn’t be sure which hoop they were aiming for – and had come with a solution that should work at least once. I was still very hard on myself for allowing the score to go so high against us, though Marcus had been quick to point out that it was very good keeping indeed that had held the score to 120 against in the entire four hours over which we had played. Now, I saw the approach of all the parties, the two chasers, the beater, the quaffle, the bludger, and prepared myself. As Mathilde went to score – and Ubelwalt, for all his apologetic looks, beat at the bludger as hard as ever – I ignored the incoming bludger, swooped, caught the quaffle – ignoring the cheers of the Durmstrang fans – and whipped about, using the quaffle to deflect the bludger that had been about to score a solid hit. Deletrious intercepted the bludger at once and it hit Mathilde hard, bringing a grunt, as I threw the quaffle to Aya, far down the pitch. The Durmstrangs were so completely caught off guard that she scored easily.

Meanwhile, the beater Baer took the opportunity to send a bludger towards Serminia. Deletrious, looked furious, and with a wordless cry he placed himself directly between the bludger and its target, striking the bludger with so much force that his wooden bat shattered. The bludger reversed its course and struck Baer with such force that I believe it broke his shoulder in some fashion, and he was forced to seek a medic. The bludger turned right back round after this and went directly for Deletrious, who then proceeded to catch it with his bare hand! To this day I’ve still never seen the like, and the whole crowd looked stunned, such that Baer’s exclamation – his cries of pain silenced – seemed to echo as he whispered, “mein gott!” 

Deletrious wound up to throw the bludger – it was emitting purple bursts of magic, struggling to be free – when suddenly a crack filled the stadium and Deletrious swooned. Ubelwalt had hit him, quite solidly, in the back of the head with his bat. “Mine…does not break,” he said proudly, brandishing it, as Deletrious turned on him. “I think…perhaps you should throw that,” he indicated the bludger, “not at my friend. I am maybe not so strong as you, but certainly I am more strong than Baer. Also,” he added, noting how Deletrious’ broom now wavered as its master tried to regain his senses, “I fly much better than you.”

The brawl between the two – and its proximity to the hoops I was Keeping – quite distracted me from events elsewhere on the pitch. Fortunately, the quaffle came nowhere near for a few minutes. A moan went up from the fans, followed by a cheer – I gathered, watching around, that Lars had once again failed to gather the snitch. However, this cheer was followed immediately by a shriek from the antiquated snitch, a loud cry of “Interference!!” as it went zooming off towards the school. I could only wonder at what might have happened, though Maya and Aya – I could see – shared guilty looks, and the student body, the next day, was given to think that the vast increase in the number of points awarded to Gryffindor house was surely related. At the moment, all that could be heard were loud thumps from the direction the snitch had gone as we all paused awaiting its return. This came soon enough, as the snitch announced, “Penalty assessed!” and play resumed.

The fight had me so distracted that I couldn’t follow any of the other play. Before me, Deletrious and Ubelwalt appeared to have forgotten that there was a Quidditch match going on. Baer was gone, presumably for medical help, and the bludgers were largely ignored. Both bludgers, therefore, seemed to think it an excellent time to take vengeance on their attackers, and as the two huge men were attacking each other with fists, bats, kicks, head butts, all 50 feet off the ground, while the bludgers mercilessly peppered both of them with blows. This was hardly appropriate Quidditch behavior, but for long minutes the medieval snitch referee did nothing. 

I can’t say which particular thing that occurred caused the snitch to decide that enough was enough, but finally the snitch shrieked, “Foul to both sides! Foul! Foul! Foul!” Maybe it wasn’t even the fight that prompted this, I truly do not know. I easily blocked Silberholz’s attempt to score, and then was as easily foiled by yet another of Durmstrangs fake-outs and Mathilde scored; at least Reginald managed to score for our side, as well. I felt my continued failures with nothing but bitter self-recrimination, though later many of my friends and classmates would agree that they were shocked I’d even been able to continue the match after the treatment I’d sustained, and that they didn’t hold my failures against me.

The fight finally broken up, I was able to follow what was going on again, just in time to see Lydia diving, and to make out the glitter towards which she headed. Lars was ahead of her. My breath caught in my throat. I’d lost track of the current score, and I greatly feared that even if Lydia managed to capture the snitch, we would lose, but certainly if Lars got it there could be no other ending. They were both, so close, and rushing towards the ground at fatal speeds. Undeterred, Lydia actually threw her weight to one side, and skimmed the ground at a terrifying, physics-defying right angle. I still feared it would not be enough, when she leapt from her broom, directly in front of Lars as he grasped for the snitch. 

I suppose I should have been paying attention to the game. The Durmstrang chasers could have scored any number of times while I allowed myself to be utterly distracted by the chase for the snitch, but I couldn’t take my eyes from it nor, I later learned, could any of the others, really. Lydia’s fingers closed on the snitch, our adjudicator ended the game, and I saw the score for the first time. I’m sure we all thought the same thing simultaneously: for the score stood at 180 to 170, but it was not Hogwarts in the lead. For everything that we had done, we had lost anyway, and I was to blame.

The noise of the stadium was overwhelming, but it couldn’t drown out a voice from far down the pitch. “Could somebody get me down from here?” It was little Reginald who – I wish I had seen this myself! – had been attacked by Gregor Langhaar such that he had been hurled, javelin like, through one of the Quidditch hoops. Broom lost, he now rested, legs dangling desperately, wedged neatly in the circle, and in his possession was the quaffle. The score ticked over to a tie, for, after a moments deliberation, the snitch declared firmly that the quaffle that Reginald bore had most definitely passed through the ring, and therefore was a score.

And so the match ended in a perfectly satisfactory, perfectly unsatisfactory, tie.

Normally, I think, a tie would have elicited no particular good spirits. However, with everything that had happened in the match, with the moment in which we all thought that Hogwarts had lost despite all that we could do, a tie seemed to be taken with even better cheer than a win might have been. This feeling was surely amplified by the good will with which the Durmstrangs handled their loss. Now that the match was over, they all seemed to lose their air of superiority; indeed, Ubelwalt demonstrated genuine pleasantness in the days afterwards, talking often with Deletrious, exchanging whatever sorts of information two giants might wish to share with each other. For, we were told, the Durmstrangs and their headmaster were to remain with us for at least the rest of the year. No one seemed to know why this was, but now that the match was over, and over in a way which neither side could resent, most people took it as a matter of course and surprisingly few questions were asked. Nox was still not welcome, but nor was there any polite way to send him off, so the intrusion was accepted, and soon no one thought about it twice.

It was, as I had feared, the better part of the week before I began to feel much better. Once the match was completed, I was able to get more effective medical treatment than could be afforded during it, but even so I was so bruised and concussed that there was only so much that could be done. I was thankful that nearly all of the pain was eliminated, though, and as such I had merely the stiffness to contend with.

Classes, of course, resumed the very next day, and at once I was as busy as I ever had been. Now that the match was completed, the normal Quidditch schedule was to resume, and so I had the unenviable task of trying to organize the pitiful Ravenclaw team. Meanwhile, I now had all of the duties of Head Girl. In my fondest fancies, I had thought that this would mean that I would get to spend more time with Marcus, as surely our duties would parallel, but indeed nearly the exact opposite proved to be the case. It was not uncommon for two prefects to be assigned to a single task, since there were generally eight prefects in total, but there was only one head girl and only one head boy, and as such there was far more need than manpower and thus the two were almost never assigned to the same duty. It was not until the meeting that Marcus had proposed for the following weekend that I next got to see him for more than a minute at a time.

I did, however, find myself thinking about my relationship – for it truly was such – rather more often than I would ever have imagined I might. Thinking of myself as a quiet, rational sort of person, I’d not have thought that so many of my idle moments would be given over to thinking about a boy. I always had thought that thinking about boys was meant for sillier, stupider, less elite minds than my own – minds, I supposed, like Katrina’s. Now, I was forced to acknowledge that my high opinion of myself had to be reconciled with my new interest, and that I would in the future be unjust indeed to pass judgment on those who, at least from time to time, lost themselves in sighing over the other sex.

Tthe days after the Quidditch match, I found myself turning constant half-circles. On the one hand were feelings of happiness and pleasure and what I was increasingly willing to acknowledge might be the first hints of deep affection. On the other hand were all those dark feelings that reduced me to tears on Sunday night. As the week proceeded and my date on Saturday came closer, these two states seemed to grow increasingly close together, and my flips between them more rapid, until I was quite convinced, in my heart, that I couldn’t possibly proceed past Saturday without acquainting Marcus with the selfish circumstances that had prompted me to at first to approach him. 

To say that I was petrified with what might be the result of this confession was an understatement. Thinking about it could be positively dangerous, too, for if it wandered in to my mind while I was in the midst of some other activity I was virtually guaranteed to grow inattentive and make some drastic mistake. This is how, on Wednesday morning, I found myself reporting to the infirmary with my hands bleeding from severe Mandragora bites and blood leaking from my ears where my muffs had started to slip and allowed the sound of its cries to reach my ears. I was there again on Thursday afternoon, having forgotten that my cauldron, though cleaned, was still at the 143.2 degree temperature that had been imperative for the brew to thicken properly, and I set both my hands on it to carry it away. This had been particularly mortifying, for though Guillermo Patil and Katrina both had joined Advanced Potions, it was Marcus himself who had been more than solicitous enough to accompany me to the nurse, and he was very concerned as he looked on my blistered palms and tear streaked face, not comprehending that his presence and care were only serving to increase my discomposure.  
That evening, I received another letter from him, though I was spared having to produce a response due to the ointment smeared on my hands which rendered writing impossible. How the letter found its way into my Quidditch locker quite defied the imagination, but its sender was still quite clear; I got the feeling, looking at it, that I was supposed to have received it several days sooner, and felt bad that my reply would be delayed.

“Dear Delia,” it read, “I am delighted to hear that my plans regarding Christmas are agreeable to you. The countryside is so beautiful in the wintertime when the snows have set in, I should love for you to see it.” My heart skipped. I couldn’t recall for certain, but it seemed to me that it was the first time he had used that word before me, and even in this innocent context it made me happy to see. Oh, but was I ever bad off! I continued reading. “Although I must confess I am not entirely certain that you have not. I find it odd really; while I find myself very much enamored, I do not know you so well.” I dropped the letter. Imagine my feelings, on having felt my heart rush at the benign suggestion that he would love for me to see the country, how I must have felt to read him say out right that he was enamored with me! Joy and shame crowded so close to each other that I nearly swooned, and I sat down heavily on Quidditch bench, one hand smearing ointment over my mouth as I covered it, gasping in amazement. The bitter taste that suffused my mouth brought me back to my senses, and I carefully picked the letter up from where I had dropped it. “I do not know you so well,” I read again, “I imagine, unless you have a great deal of luck with divination, the feeling is somewhat mutual.” It was true, certainly, that with events happening so frequently, and with our limited time together, we had hardly spoken at all about ourselves, and then usually only in anecdotes. I realized that I didn’t even know his age, though I knew his school year.

“Perhaps, though, we could remedy this situation? I should be glad to say a few things about me, to introduce myself properly as I should be ashamed to have not done before. Perhaps this shall inspire a similar act in response? A boy can only hope.

“My name is Marcus Relious, as you may well know. I am 18 years old. My father is William Relious, and my mother, when still a maiden, was Cordelia Black. That is why I drew on that name as I did at the dance. She was taken by the scarlet fever when I was six. But I should not wish to sadden you or seek pity for this. I have fond memories of her. My father remarried soon after and my stepmother, Alexandra, has never treated me as anything less than her own son. I have three half-sisters, Emily, age 11, Christine, age 9, and Victoria, Age 1. I also have more aunts, uncles, and cousins than I have parchment to list. My pet – which I know you believed to be a hedgehog – is in fact a gnarl, and his name is Boggle. The similarity is undeniable, but gnarls are fairly intelligent little things, and their quills are able to absorb and store potions and administer them with but a prick.

“What else is there? I enjoy flying a good deal, but I also enjoy horseback riding, hunting and travel. Oddly enough, and I’m slightly embarrassed to admit, I also enjoy cooking; although that is hardly the sort of thing I talk about a great deal. I think that I would never hear the end of it from the other WAP boys.

“My best subject is charms, although I am a good hand at transfiguration as well. As to being Head Boy, well…it was not something I really sought out. I’m not really one for fame or glory. I enjoy spending time with and helping those I care about much more than I like yelling out and enforcing rules.

“But again, I am going on and on; about myself no less! Perhaps I should instead inquire if there is anything you would like to know about your talkative suitor? I should love to answer anything you would wish to know. I am rather worried that I am going about this poorly or will at any moment write something that is not the right sort of thing to write. As I said before, I am not so familiar with how one should, well…how one should suit, I suppose. If I ever do say something you dislike, please tell me. I think that otherwise I might go sick with worry.

“I look forward, with great anticipation, to Saturday when we may have our rendezvous,” he concluded, “Sincerely, Marcus.”

So solicitous! So proper! So fine a lineage, so fine a family, such felicity! The battle I felt within myself as I read these words would have quite astonished the man himself. I felt, surely, that he didn’t truly understand the extent to which he had captivated me, nor did he have the least inkling of my less-than-noble feelings. It hurt me deeply to imagine that this kind and caring soul had been twitched about, pulled, prodded, at the ministrations of myself and Katrina. How unworthy we both were of his care! I resolved in myself at that moment that if he would still consider me for a moment after he knew of my ill-usage, that I would do everything in my power to protect him from any other harm, anything else that might hurt his innocence, his trust, his sincerity. No one but myself would ever be permitted to hurt him, and I would never permit myself to do so in the future, if he would but forgive me for my past transgressions. No, I would construct myself as a wall, I would put myself between him and all of the cruel yet common inclinations of the world, and if it was all I did in my life I’d have done good enough deed by protecting such a wonderful man as would make me content. Yet too I dreaded more than ever the meeting on Saturday, for I very much feared that the betrayal of the trust of one so fine was an irretrievable mistake.

Thus it was that I sat down on Friday to pen my reply, my feelings a veritable storm a-sea, and tried to think how I could reply to this message without betraying anything of the conflict I felt. I wanted to tell him of myself as he’d asked, but as I picked up my and tried to think what to say, I could think of nothing to recommend myself. What had I done with my life, truly? I had always been such a selfish, self-centered creature; all that had ever interested me was potions, and everything that I had ever done had been to secure my own ability to continue to pursue this interest. With a sigh, I set out to present myself and this embarrassing truth as honestly as I could; I couldn’t even bring myself to try to acquit myself of this crime.

“Dear Marcus,

“Your guess on my ignorance of country winters is quite correct, for my family has lived in London for several generations. With the usual prejudice of city folks, my parents see little to draw one outside of London’s fine boundaries.” I had yet to admit to him, I realized, the state of my families affairs, and thought with a queasy feeling that it would only be fair to ensure that he realized that not only was I a low, selfish, self-interested girl, but I was all of that and I lacked a dowry. But not in a letter. On Saturday, I would explain it all, and allow him to pass his judgment on me. “Winters in the city are beautiful, but I suspect it is in a very different way. Hogwarts winters are interesting and beautiful also, are the winters at your home more like that?

“As for more about me, well, I know you know my name is Delia Prince. My father, Agathon Prince, is the only son of the Prince family at the moment. He was married to Dijana MacNair soon after they graduated from school. Soon after my brother, Alasdair,was born. He is 20 years old now and works as an adjunct at the Ministry of Magic. My family are very much of the old blood, Slytherin, sort, and I don’t fit in that well, but I do my best to be a daughter of whom they can be proud. When I’m home, I find I frequently pretend to stereotypes that I don’t feel, but in truth I feel, personally, that people should be judged on their merit rather than on their blood.” And, I thought gloomily, my merit was terribly poor indeed.

“As for my interest, well, I am sad to admit I have surprisingly few. I am normally a very quiet person – hard to believe, I imagine, for anyone who has only come to know me this school year – and I enjoy reading and studying a great deal. I am, as all know, most skilled in the area of potion brewing, but it is important to note that I also love brewing, and would be most sad if somehow it was forbidden to me. I also enjoy flying. Outside of such interests, though, I fear I am very two-dimensional, which saddens me now. Mostly, I spend my time on the brewing of potions and the study of potions. I have, in fact, suffered through several poisonings and more than one explosion. They make life more interesting.

“I find that recently I have been developing an interest in muggles, as well. This is fairly new to me, and would surely shame my parents, for, while I respect people for their talents, I never gave much thought to muggles before. However, the war has shown me that muggle affairs can have a profound effect on the wizarding world, and so I have been devoting myself more assiduously than before to the study of their ways.

“I apologize that I can think of nothing else! I suppose that is because I have had so few close friends, I’ve never had to think on how to recommend myself to others before.

“I look forward to tomorrow greatly, Delia.”

And, setting my pen down, I sent the letter forthwith before I could glance at and be disgusted with myself and my own inadequacies. I had two other letters that needed to be written, one to Hogsmeade to enquire after the gift I hoped to give Marcus, and the other to my family to inform them of my thoughts on Christmas, but I couldn’t bring myself to compose either until I knew how Saturday unfolded. Classes were done for the day, and as it was Friday, I had little work that couldn’t be put off until the following days. I went about my duties mechanically, and my mind wandered through fancies both delightful and detestable of what the next day had in store.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I've mentioned in a couple of notes, this story is based on a LARP that I played in 2005. The letters I've included as from Marcus are actual letters that the other player sent me, in character, and my responses are my actual responses. :) Though I'm cleaning up the manuscript a little as I post it, these I didn't change.
> 
> Also, the Quidditch match was in part written for the game (not by me) - the STs took input from all of us who were on the teams (we each got to say one "awesome" thing we did and one "awful" thing that happened to us) and used that to compile the match, and then they did a dramatic reading to open the game session. I paraphrased it and modified it somewhat to make sense as coming from Delia's PoV.


	8. Confessions

The next day, after breakfast, saw me arriving at the Quidditch pitch. The day was clear and cold, the sort of perfect fall day that one sees only a few times in the year, the rarer for how late in the season it was. I was bundled up in my thick woolen winter robes, my blue and gray scarf, and gloves, and I carried my broom casually, enjoying the chill of the wind in comparison to the warmth of my breath against the scarf, enjoying the small delay that walking gave to what I had to do. Marcus had arrived before me – not surprising, since I had seen him leave breakfast before I did – and he greeted me with a smile that dispelled the chill even better than my robes. Despite myself, I smiled back demurely. My heart was racing. Bleakly, I reminded myself that this was the end. After today, he’d never smile at me like that again.

We exchanged pleasantries, and for a few moments there was an awkward silence. I knew I should start speaking, but before I could work up the nerve, we took off and began our flight with hardly a word said aloud, though I think our facial expression probably spoke volumes. My eyes were definitely betraying my heart, and my heart was convinced that I had betrayed myself by supposing Marcus to be the only one “enamored.” The forest was quite as lovely as he had suggested, he pointed out a few landmarks, and exclaimed when a thestral came in to view, though I couldn’t see it. This lead to the topic of the contents of our letters – since the death of his mother in his youth was how he was able to see the ill-aspected stead. I asked him questions that had occurred to me since the writing, learning more about his sisters – the eldest was already in finishing school, and would be coming to Hogwarts in two years – and a bit about his aunts and uncles and cousins and such and how he’d come to have such a large family. I asked about the Blacks’ and his relations with them, and was surprised to learn that that family, normally so austere and downright rude to those whose blood was less than perfection, had yet to disown Marcus’ family, who had seemed to me everything that was normally referred to by that filthy and absurd expression of “blood traitor.” Marcus, for his part, answered my queries eagerly, and though he kept trying to turn things back to me, apologizing all the while for talking too much of himself, I made every effort to always turn those enquiries back and keep him as the topic. I couldn’t bear to speak of myself. I felt only like I was enhancing my own punishment, adding these last minutes of happiness to what was surely to come, but that I was doing still worse because I had the bad manners to include Marcus in my delay by deluding him that much longer.

About an hour after we took off, a colder wind than before began to blow, or perhaps it was simply felt more after so long so high up, and we therefore alit on the Quidditch pitch. Locking up our brooms, we decided that we would proceed by walking along the forest instead. It was, of course, forbidden for us to go inside, but there was a nice trail that students had beaten over the years that walked the periphery of the woods and the lake, making a circuit of the grounds, and we started on this. Much to my distress and gratification, Marcus held my hand.

“I will not answer one more question,” he cried passionately, half laughing, “without being satisfied in one of my own! I know why you are doing this.”

“Oh?” I tried to smile, but it was more of smirk. “I find that difficult to credit.”

“It is because of that absurdity that you perpetrated in your last letter, your suggestion that you are not very interesting. You are determined to not draw attention to yourself, and so you are diverting my innocent questions so that I cannot learn more of you than you have already shared. I refuse to believe your self-report,” he smiled, and I blushed, “though I apologize for the insult that that lays at the feet of your honesty, for I find you to be anything but boring.”

Now was the moment. I knew it. Sighing sadly, I withdrew my hand from his, tucking my hands into the sleeves of my robes to keep the wind off. He stopped walking, and looked at me in confusion. “There is something that you don’t know about me,” I said. I kept my eyes lowered; I couldn’t bear to look at him. “Two things, and they’re both terribly unflattering, much more so than that I’m dull – though I believe I am that as well.”

He looked truly concerned now. He should, I thought with another stab at myself. He opened his mouth to speak; though I told myself it was to reproach there was no actual doubt in my mind that in fact it was to provide reassurance. I didn’t give him the chance. I had started, and if I didn’t continue now I’d never be able to do so, I’d surrender to this lie happily and resent myself forever. “The first regards yourself,” I hurried ahead of him, and he closed his mouth again, still not understanding, but realizing that it would only be polite to hear me out. “I know for certain that I surprised you when I asked you to attend the ball with me. You’ve indicated to me that you had no concept that I liked you, since we had barely met. The truth is,” I paused, agonized, feeling skewered by the kind, sympathetic, concerned expression on his face, “the truth is that I didn’t whatsoever.” His expression didn’t waver. I hadn’t made it clear enough. I pressed on, feeling like a woman reading her own death sentence. “A woman such as myself, you understand, is in a bad position. My parents expect me to make a good match, and if I show no inclination they will do so for me. As I’ve expressed, I don’t share my parents feelings on the primacy of pure blood. However, I have no desire to see them unhappy with me, and so I was left with a pretty puzzle. I could either allow them to find me a potential spouse from amongst the student body, who would surely be everything that I find detestable about those in the Slytherin mold, or I could go about it on my own, beat them to the punch, as they say. If I could find a pureblood male of sufficient age and standing who wasn’t detestable to me, I could avoid being forced in to an even more unpleasant match.” His expression had changed now. It had clouded over, he was frowning, and as I spoke, he mouthed the words ‘detestable’ and ‘even more unpleasant.’

“It was a simple, cold-blooded decision. I assessed the students currently at Hogwarts, eliminated those too young, eliminated all those who were obsessed with blood – so all of those in Slytherin, and a few of the others as well, and was left with a very short list. It had one name. Marcus Relious. The fact that he…” No, I couldn’t distance it that way. “The fact that you were in Hufflepuff would count against you more than Ravenclaw would have, but at least you weren’t a Gryffindor, and the Relious is good blood. I hoped the fact that you were handsome, a member of WAP, and Head Boy would be able to counteract the negative effect of house. However, I knew that those very things that would make you the only candidate that fit my needs would also make it that others would want you, as well, and so I conspired to ask you to the ball as soon as possible. And, I believe, from there you know the rest.” I paused, waiting for an acknowledgement to that, but he didn’t give one. He was no longer frowning, either. He was simply looking at me, his eyes intense. God, did I love him! I had not thought that once since the previous weekend, when the words had flown through my brain in a flight of fancy. Now, though, they rested there as a fact. The word ‘enamored’ floated through my head, and I almost broke in to a hysterical laugh. “That is the first thing that you need to know. I had no good inclinations, I had no positive motives, I didn’t even have simple attraction. I selected you in the same way that I would have chosen the correct ingredient for a potion, as the only possible choice that satisfied the need that I had. I didn’t know you whatsoever but that you fit my minimum requirements.” I clamped my mouth shut. I was repeating myself now. As if the first time wasn’t bad enough, surely I had been clear, there was no need to say it again and again!

I waited for him to speak. I had more to say, but it seemed absurd to embark on the second piece of information I had to share if he told me to be gone from his sight after the first. Another edge of hysterical laughter threatened my barely-held composure, as the absurd thought that, by waiting, I could at least retain my family’s honor. My family’s honor had caused this entire mess! At the moment, I felt nothing more than like my family wasn’t worth a groat, and that I would destroy us for the pain “honor” was now causing me, for the difficulties it had caused me my entire life. While these thoughts and more like them roiled through my head – the worst of which involved me wrecking vengeance upon my parents for having the bad taste of ruining themselves financially – Marcus never ceased regarding me, his expression even, his eyes growing steadily more thoughtful. Finally, he spoke, and I hung on every word, all thought banished. “Very well,” he started, “very well. You’ve said how you felt then. How do you feel now?”

My eyes filled with tears. How was I to answer that? I should have given the second piece of news immediately! I had been so certain he would send me away at once that it had never occurred to me the consequences of his not doing so; now, after the first hint of at least being a chance could spring hope in my heart, I had to face the chance of losing him again. “I feel terrible,” I admitted. “I feel like the lowest creature on the earth. I feel like I’m worse than Katrina, cruel and selfish. I feel that I must be the worst, for you are surely the best, and to have abused you as I have, to have used you as I have, is a crime for which no punishment is too severe.” He watched me, still, not frowning, not smiling, just watching. I would have given everything I had – though that was little enough – to know what he was thinking. But he didn’t speak, and I plowed on. “There is, as I said, a second thing…” I began, and he nodded slowly. In a rush, I continued. “My family, the Princes, are known as one of the great old families. However, there is something that isn’t known, a very great secret, that I haven’t told you, but you deserve to know. We are penniless.” He looked utterly astonished, far more shocked then when I had told him that I was a cruel and heartless vixen.

“My family has barely a farthing. That’s the reason that I sell potions, you understand: to pay for my own schooling, for otherwise I’d be forced to make do my brothers used things, and I couldn’t bear it. Even the shame of going in to business was less, as inconceivable as that is. My parents are desperate that I should find a man who will have me for but my name and save the family fortunes, and I am desperate not to be used in their schemes. So you see, now, how it relates to the first thing I spoke of. I have no inheritance, I have no dowry, I have only a name that, if the truth were known, would be valueless, and an interest in business, shameful as it is, as the only way to fix our fortunes.” I took a deep breath. I knew I should stop, but I couldn’t. “And so now you know it all. I am heartless, selfish, conceited, and penniless, and I should never have sullied you by even proposing this absurdity.” I was crying; the wind threatened to freeze my tears to ice on my face. I didn’t feel like that was nearly enough punishment. “I’m sorry.” I couldn’t bear to hear what he might say then, and so I turned to leave.

“Delia,” he spoke gently, and I stopped. “Thank you.” I turned back towards him, unable to hide my astonishment at those words, tears still falling. “I fear I must correct you. You are none of the cruel words that you have just directed against yourself. You are far better than you seem capable of believing! How can you say those terrible things, when you have just brought yourself to such a state simply to acquaint me with the truth? If you were really so heartless, you’d not have cared what I felt. If you were really selfish, you’d have continued in your…” he searched for a word “…what you were doing without a qualm. If you were really conceited, you would never try to convince me of your worthlessness. And as for your being penniless, this I cannot refute, but to say that I don’t care in the least about the state of your fortunes; it’s you that I care for. I don’t think one whit of your family, my apologies for saying so – and I care for them all the less because they seem to abuse you so.” I was all amazement. The tears still fell, but a smile started to come to my face. He was smiling at me. He wasn’t sending me away.

Yet, I wasn’t perfect. “No, no,” I protested, “I must have you understand! How can you not think me those things, after the things that I did?”

“How do you feel now?” he repeated the question which he had voiced before, which I had dodged answering.

I wanted to continue to tell him how terrible I was, but he was smiling at me, and I couldn’t compel myself try to drive him away any more. “I,” I licked my lips. I suddenly felt terribly hoarse. “I care about you a great deal.” I confessed. How could it be harder to say those simple words than every terrible one!

He took my hands out from under my sleeves, clasping them in his own. “And I care about you a great deal as well. You have told me the truth, and I can never thank you enough for doing me that kindness. Please, always do so in the future! And I will do the same.” Releasing one of my hands, he withdrew a kerchief from under his robes, passing it to me. It had his initials embroidered on it, and I decided on the spot to never return it, however rude that might be. I wiped my eyes and my tear-streaked face. Suddenly, the whole situation seemed slightly comical.

“You…you truly can forgive me?” I stammered.

“I think I might forgive you anything,” he replied seriously, “but when presented with crimes such as these? One in the past and one in no way your fault? I hardly think there is anything to forgive at all!” 

I started to laugh. “You think me silly?”

“I do,” his seriousness fell away, and he broke into a wide grin. “I think you are very silly to have upset yourself so! But did you really believe that I would drive you away?”

“I did,” I admitted, starting to think of myself as silly, too. In the relief, no, the joy of still being in his heart, it suddenly seemed obvious that surely it would have always been thus. Who would drive away one who came to say that you were so charming that you had won them over despite their inclinations otherwise? For that was what I had just told him, I realized: that despite myself, despite my coldness and distance and calculation, I had come to care enough about him to feel that I had done wrong. “I believed it – I feared it – with my whole being. I’ve been petrified.”  
Marcus laughed whole heartedly, and I – far from being affronted by what could have seemed a cold-hearted approach to my feelings – joined him.

Our walk after we reached this most pleasant conclusion was also quite pleasant. Indeed, I would say that I found pretty much everything “pleasant” at that point in time, though some things were “exemplary,” some “splendid,” a few “excellent,” and small minority of the best of the best were “outstanding” and “extraordinary” and “awe inspiring.” The wind was brisk and delightful, the chill was invigorating, the sky was spectacular, my entire vocabulary took a turn for the positive, and nothing in the world could seem ill at all. We talked a little bit more on my shocking revelations, but they were cheerful and heartfelt words, and my head was so far in the clouds that I couldn’t have related what we talked about even minutes later, much less after all these years. That Marcus didn’t despise me seemed to embody all I could dream of in terms of felicity and good will, and my opinion of him rose yet again. Only his modesty and utter lack of pride kept me from feeling infinitely his inferior; yet somehow when I was with him, though I did feel inferior, I also felt his regard for me, and this transformed any sentiments I held of divorcing my inferior self from him into feelings of how immensely lucky I was that someone like him could have such feelings for someone like me.

All good things must, of course, come to an end, and it was hunger that finally drove us in doors. We barely got back in time to eat lunch, and after that we each had to part ways to see to our regular duties. The change in my behavior from my listless service on Friday to my cheerful, smiling demeanor on Saturday was such that Celestine asked if I was quite well, and so I found myself explaining the entire circumstance to her. She, of course, had been party to large pieces of this anyway, so she was quick to reaffirm her support and to offer me encouragement. She decided to stand patrol with me so we could continue speaking. One of the many duties of prefects was to walk the halls of the castle, seeking out malefactors, mischief-makers, intruders, or anyone in distress. This was done in shifts which were generally two to four hours; due to an unfortunate turn of events, I had ended up with both the before and after dinner shifts, and would therefore lose my entire Saturday evening to this dull work.

It was after dinner, when Celestine rejoined me, that my excitement had finally settled enough to notice that she was not at all in good spirits. I commented on this, and apologized profusely at my unintentioned callousness of earlier in not observing her demeanor. Forgiving me immediately, I saw that her countenance remained sad, and, since she looked like she was thinking of what to say, I was silent for a few moments.

“Delia,” she said finally, “I thought perhaps you might be able to help me with something. It relates to potions.”

“Of course,” I replied, not masking my surprise. “I would be happy to help in whatever way I can.”

“Perhaps you should not be so quick to agree,” she said, and her voice sounded so very troubled and sad that I quickly repeated myself, assuring her that I would do whatever I could to aid her. “No, please,” she interrupted me, “let me explain. It’s a very serious matter, and there is some danger, and I would not have you enter in to it unawares.” She hesitated again. “Since you spend so much time with Marcus, I imagine that he has told you about the mission that the WAP students undertook in September?” I nodded. “When they came back, they brought with them a group of children, prisoners they had rescued. One of these prisoners was my brother – I told you, right, my parents and my brother were still missing someplace in France?” I nodded again, and felt a chill of premonition. Marcus had mentioned the prisoners that they had found. He had said that the children were being used as part of an experiment, an experiment the purpose of which was to create controllable werewolves. Celestine had stopped, and seemed to be unable to bring herself to say what she had to say next.

“Celestine,” I said as gently as I could, and she looked up at me; her eyes were filled with tears. “Is your brother a werewolf?” She nodded, utterly miserable.

“They tell me, they tell me there is nothing that can be done,” she cried softly, “that he will be this way forever! He suffers so! It is only on the nights of the full moon that he is afflicted, but it affects his appetite always, and he has grown so pale, so pale and so thin, I cannot bear to see him so unhappy. They say that nothing at all can be done, that there is no cure for lycanthropy,” she paused, hiccoughing, before proceeding in a rush, “but I do not think that they are really trying, I think that all they see is a sad creature that was once a child but is now a werewolf, and you know how werewolves are hated and despised and reviled! I felt that way too, before, I’m ashamed to admit, but now, now I see my brother! And I look at those other children – there are 5 others – and I see them. They are not simply beasts, they are children, they are frightened and alone and nobody cares for them at all! I want to help them,” she finished fiercely.

I was flattered that she had come to me, but what she said warred with my own prejudices. After all, they were werewolves. Vicious, unthinking beasts that would kill any human they came across! So everyone thought, and so had I as well. Yet what Celestine said was also true. They were only children, they had not brought this upon themselves, and they would harm no one except for on the full moon. “What have you tried?” I asked. I was very proud of myself as I realized that not for a moment had it occurred to me to withdraw my ignorantly offered support. I would still help her, though she was right that there was danger. Perhaps I would live to be worthy of Marcus yet!

“I’ve been studying the illness – there are very few books, shockingly, for the same reasons as there is so much unwarranted hatred. I’ve been looking into approaches to its cure that involve charms and transfiguration, and particularly those that might relate to magical beasts. That is the area of most of my interests, and I had considered some means of, I don’t know, splitting the wolf essence from the human essence, or transferring the illness to another. I haven’t had any luck so far,” she hiccoughed again, though her tears were stopping. 

“And you think a potion might be used instead?” I said, thoughtful. “There are many brews with medicinal purposes, though there isn’t one that I know of to tackle this particular ailment. Still, I can think of what I might be able to modify. I will need some werewolf blood in order to experiment. Possibly quite a deal of it – unless I can come up with some means of curing the blood, I will have to test each concoction on one of those afflicted, and that could be very dangerous – both to the sick child and to myself or whoever else must adopt the unenviable task of watching at the next full moon to see what happens.”

“So…” Celestine looked up at me, hope and surprise on her face “…so you’ll help me? Truly?”

“Of course,” I replied. “And if I might suggest, there is a third angle we could try – Marcus told me that Nox and his horrid ally whose castle they struck were using automata necklaces to control the children?”

Celestine nodded. “All of them still wear the necklaces, though they don’t seem to help much.”

“If you don’t mind sharing this secret with another, Lycia has much expertise in automata, and might be able to help. Or we could bring her the necklace without explaining the secret.” This second option seemed more pleasing to Celestine, which I could certainly understand.

“Why not Galatea?” asked Celestine, frowning. “Lycia is good at automata, very good, but Galatea is better.”

I sighed. I had thought of Galatea, but after her behavior towards Nox, I feared to trust her with something like this. But could I explain this? I thought about it quickly, and finally made up my mind. That Celestine had entrusted me with her secret was a sign of her good faith, and it would be silly for me not to return such a heartfelt and sincere gesture. I explained to her briefly my reasons for thinking that Galatea should not be trusted, that she might be Nox’s and Tremens’ daughter, that I thought she might be an automata herself, and though Celestine looked skeptical as I finished, she did agree. “Very well. I visit my brother tomorrow. I will ask his keepers for a small amount of his blood, and will retrieve the necklace in the hopes that maybe, if Lycia can tell us more of its mechanisms, we might better understand lycanthropy.”

We talked on after this, with many hours of my patrol still to pass, and as we walked back, finally, very late, I truly appreciated what it was to have a close friend. This proved a perfectly pleasant addendum to an already wonderful day. I had a boyfriend who cared about me and whom I cared about, and a close friend in whom to confide. I wondered how I had ever been happy so completely alone as had always been my wont before; now to be alone seemed both quite horrible and quite inconceivable.

Most of the students had gone to bed, though Celestine was still with me, when Professor Patronius approached me. “Ms. Prince, may I speak to you for a moment?” he asked, sounding excited. I glanced at Celestine, and she stepped back and I nodded. He continued. “I have been speaking with the Headmaster and the other staff, and with Auror Weasley in particular, and she feels strongly that the good work of the Wizard Armed Patrol needs to be expanded. You may not have heard, but they have gone no less than 5 mission to the continent!” I blinked in surprise. I knew only of the one. Was this information confidential? Why hadn’t Marcus told me? How on earth had they kept it a secret from the students? He didn’t pause to explain, and I was left curious. “In light of their success, the staff have decided to create the Girl’s Auxiliary Brigade, or GAB, and I was told to seek out the girls who have been selected to join it and inform them.”

“So,” I said slowly, “you’re asking me to join this ‘GAB’?” He nodded. For a moment, I almost lost my cool. How on EARTH, I wanted to shout, was I supposed to take on yet another responsibility? How was I ever going to pass my OWL exams, much less do well, if I spent all of my time being a Prefect, a Head Girl, a Quidditch Captain, and a girlfriend? There was no way! I took a deep breath and stalled. “Who else is joining?”

“I’ve already spoken to the others, so I can share their identities with you,” he smiled. “The other members of GAB are Katrina Laguar, and Aya and Maya Lunari. It’s small for now. I would not have you misunderstand, though. The duties of GAB will not be the same as those of WAP. It would be most impossible to send girls on missions like those that WAP has done, heaven’s forbid! Indeed, I got the impression that it was almost entirely a formality, something that will, if you’ll forgive the phrase, make us look good. You’ll probably have to give an interview to the Daily Prophet, and do some missions on the home front, and, in extremes, you might have to back up WAP. And there will be additional training available to the GAB girls, just as there is to the WAP boys.”

I fought a silent battle with myself. Working alongside Katrina, who I’d been avoiding all week, sounded unpleasant, but I liked the Lunari’s. It didn’t sound like it would be much work, either. The letter I had to write to my parents, strangely, was what made my decision. I wanted them, needed them, to give me permission to go to Whitebrook, and the more good things I had to report the more likely they would be to acquiesce, or so I hoped. “Very well,” I nodded. “But I fear that with all my other duties, I may have trouble finding the time.”

“Well, you know,” he answered jocularly, “Katrina and the Lunaris both have other activities as well – Quidditch, that sort of thing – I’m sure we’ll be able to fit it in to everyone’s schedules. It’ll be announced on Monday, I’ll let you know when we have our first meeting.” And with a wave and smile for Celestine, he left again.

When my duties were finally completed, Celestine went straight to bed, for it was very late, but I stayed up a bit longer. I had so much that had to be done the next day – all of my homework, for starters – that I decided that I should complete the correspondence I needed to write before going to sleep. It was now appropriate to write to my parents, first of all, and to Hogsmeade about Marcus’ Christmas present, second. Indeed, it became quite imperative that I do both!

The letter to Hogsmeade, which was a simply matter, I wrote out first. “Dear Mr. Torian,” it began, addressed to the owner of the store that sold various sundries and could, therefore, be termed a common store, “I have heard intelligence on a muggle device known as a revolver. If you be so kind as to acquire a nice revolver and some ammunition for it, and send it to me at Hogwarts, I would forward payment upon receipt. If possible, I would like one with an ivory handle, engraving, or some other decoration. If you require a down payment, please let me know as soon as possible.” I signed my name, hoping that my family’s title would be enough to secure the other aspects of this that might be problematic, and set this letter aside.

My first missive completed, though, I was confronted with the reality that this is no way rendered it easier to write to my parents, but that it still needed to be done. With a sigh, I took a fresh sheet and wrote the following carefully, pausing frequently to think and to chew on the end of my quill. My goal was simple: impress them as much as possible with my numerous achievements, in the hopes that this would coerce them in to granting their permission for me to winter at Whitebrook with Marcus.

“Dearest Mother and Father,

“It seems that the semester has already half-finished while I neglected to write to you! I apologize most heartily for this oversight; I have been most busy. I hope that this letter find you both, and Alasdair, in the best of health. 

“As you have probably heard, things at Hogwarts have been very interesting. My duties as Prefect and as Quidditch Captain,” I tactfully didn’t remind them of which house these merits had been awarded for, “have been very time consuming. While there have not been any house games at the beginning of the season, I have been working on training a team. In addition to that, I was named to play Keeper for the Hogwarts team in the international that was held against Durmstrang. It was a very difficult match, and, if you have not heard the results already, I am both pleased and displeased to report that it was a tie.

“My classes have been going excellently, particularly my advanced potions class. While I was, as you know, initially concerned that this level of brewing might be too challenging for me, I have found it to be remarkably accessible and highly informative. Though the Headmaster was initially reluctant that I should take the class a year early, he has since given me every indication that I have exceeded even his high expectations for my performance.

“Professor Patronius,” I started on my latest triumph, “has asked me to join a new division of the Wizard Armed Patrol which is to be known as GAB, or the Girl’s Auxiliary Brigade, and I have accepted. I hope soon to be able to participate actively in protecting my country, and was very honored to be given the opportunity. Though it might be difficult to do so given my other responsibilities, I thought that no sacrifice was too great to save England from any share of the fate currently afflicting France.” I hoped they didn’t think of that as an attack on my brother’s very pointed and obvious avoidance of any kind of service. It couldn’t be helped.

“Oh! But I haven’t mentioned - Last week, Headmaster Nigellus came to me and asked that I take on the duties of Head Girl due to some problems with the current Head Girl. I of course immediately accepted. It’s so unusual for a Head Girl to not be a 5th year – with me only a 3rd year – I was quite astonished!

“Lastly, I am very happy to let you know that I have established a friendly rapport with the Head Boy, Marcus, who is from that fine family of pure-bloods, the Relius’. He has asked me if I might consent to be his girlfriend and, though I feared it might be improper, I have acquiesced. He is truly quite charming and has the very best breeding I have ever seen, and I do hope that I have your blessings in this matter. He has asked if I might be able to join him for Christmas at his families’ estate of Whitebrook, and I would very much like to, if you both will allow it.

“I have been working very hard this semester, as you can see, and I once again apologize for not writing sooner. I hope that I have been meeting your expectations. Please let me know if there is anything that you need from Hogsmeade, and I will make sure to purchase it for you.” And, signing it with love, I put my quill aside and assessed my letter. I was, in truth, shocked that I could try so coldheartedly to manipulate my parents, but it couldn’t be helped. They’d never allow it unless I could somehow convince them that it was well worth their while. I sighed. The letter would have to do. Sealing it, I prepared it and the other to take to the owlery first thing in the morning, and went to sleep.


	9. Exchanging Gifts

There was a month and a half remaining before the holidays, with school to end only a few days before Christmas. The time passed quickly, for so much was going on, but a few specific events bear mentioning.

From Hogsmeade, days after I had sent my message, I received a polite return note and the assurance Mr. Torian now had the item in question in his store, would I like to come and view it? I returned that I couldn’t leave school, forwarded the promised payment – 2 galleons, over half of the money I had to my name – and soon had in my possession a handsome revolver. It was large and heavy. The muzzle – please forgive me if I get some of the vocabulary incorrect, I’ve had little occasion to interact with guns in my life – was dark metal, steel I suppose, which I feared would make what I intended more difficult. The handle was a truly lovely ivory, engraved with simple patterns, and the entire piece showed all the signs of the best workmanship, or so I believed with my limited knowledge of such things (I was, as it turns out, quite right). It came in a velvet lined wooden case which could be locked and had a place to store ammunition. The ammunition itself was sent in a fine leather case that could be worn on a belt. All in all, I felt I had gotten my 2 galleons worth and then some. Best of all, the handle was engraved with the initials R.M., which I found to be a highly amusing and not inappropriate inversion. 

From listening to Guillermo and the other WAP boys, I had learned of this thing called the “pain bolt,” and from Nox I had learned what produced it. It was effective, deadly, easily portable, and required little effort from the wielder. What if Marcus found himself unable to cast spells? What if he was unable to speak or didn’t have his wand? My mind had manufactured over and over again conditions which would leave him helpless where a gun might save his life. However, the gun had three flaws. First, it required ammunition. Second, it required skill to use with accuracy. Third, it made a great deal of noise. So, in November I started studying hard, and though it was technically forbidden by wizarding law, I had taught myself to the spells necessary and the skills required to, I hoped, imbue the muggle weapon with the properties I sought.

For those who don’t know about enchanting – and few do, it’s a time consuming and labor intensive activity – there are generally two ways to go about doing so. The first is to construct the item from scratch with the magical properties one wants, using sympathetic materials and casting the spells as one works. This way works better. The second involves enchanting an existing objective, and though it is less effective, it is frequently necessary, and is done by either changing the nature of the parts, drawing on sympathies, or imbuing with runes. Since I couldn’t alter the nature of the parts, and the sympathies of the materials in the gun were not at all inclined to silence or accuracy, and I had resolved on runic magic, hence why I now looked at the steel with chagrin, for I would have to find a way to etch detailed, specific runes in to it as accurately as possible. If I made even a single mistake, the results could be disastrous – even catastrophic. 

I should note that, from my point of view, the gift was not only the gun. I knew Marcus would understand, too, when I gave it to him. I generally thought that spells were a silly waste of time, and preferred to stick to brewing, but I had taught myself a half dozen advanced spells – and a number of less advanced ones that were prerequisites – in order to bring do these enchantments. It was a good project for a girl in her OWL year, and I had much more confidence now with a wand than I had ever had before, but I still wouldn’t have done if not for this. 

With what time I had, I spent a great deal of effort on this weapon. I obtained some other steel and practiced engraving it until I was confident that I could do so. I learned spells for silence, for accuracy, and to produce actual pain bolts, magical bullets – the gun would still be able to shoot true ammunition, I hoped, which would be more effective than anything I could make with jolts of energy, but in an emergency, it would still be useful as more than just a club. I perfected the spells, I perfected the runes, and I wished I had a second gun to test it all on first, but there simply wasn’t time – the runes took almost a month to set, and I had to check them every day, casting the related spells again and again. It was exhausting and took the majority of my free time.

My second letter didn’t receive so speedy and positive a reply, unfortunately. It was almost two weeks before my mother wrote me her reply, and when it came it was brief.

“Darling Daughter,” she wrote, “Your father and I are so proud of you! Being chosen as Head Girl truly sets you apart from your house, for there are prefects from every denomination but there is only one Head Girl. Will you retain the title in the coming years? That would be delightful. You’ll make all the other girls quite jealous. It really is a pity that the Durmstrangs were so able to score at Quidditch, but a tie still kept England from being completely embarrassed, and we’ll show the Germans yet. Perhaps this shows you the imprudence of a girl such as yourself engaging in such a plain sport. Your father and I have always felt, as we’ve told you, that you shouldn’t sully your hands on a broomstick for all the world. I must say, too, that affiliating yourself with this ‘GAB’ organization is very common, indeed, and you should reconsider, I think. We must do everything we can to avoid that sort of common thing, you know, and not deign to approach that which is beneath us.

“I’m afraid that it would be quite impossible for you to spend Christmas with Relius. We have heard what kind of family they are, and it would not do, not do at all, to have you associated with such. Your father and I have such high hopes for you, and though it might be kept a secret, if a suitor were to learn of it, imagine the damage to your reputation! It would never do. I’m sorry, Delia, but we cannot permit you to expose yourself to such, even though we know you would never do anything to justify such slander.

“Thank you for the kind offer of acquiring goods in Hogsmeade. If you could please obtain an ever-blooming rose, for myself, and one of those self-smoking pipes for your father, that would be delightful.

“Don’t forget your studies in the approaching holiday, and do be diligent and keep to your duties! We will not be able to meet you at the station, so we’ll see you on the evening of the 23rd of December. Love, your Mother.”

Needless to say, I found this letter to be utterly unwelcome and unpleasant. I had accepted such missives calmly in the past, but now that I had friends who seemed to see my worth, I had an improved idea of that worth myself, and to see my mother feel the need to denigrate nearly everything I cared about was not something I could quietly accept any longer. She hadn’t even troubled to spell Marcus’ name correctly, and she had come as close to calling them blood traitors as she could have politely. Somehow, seeing him affronted made me much more angry than the reflections on my Quidditch playing, the disapproval of GAB, her insulting of Ravenclaw, and the requested purchases, which would take all the rest of the galleons I had so carefully earned that semester. 

I kept the letter a secret, though, and only related to Marcus that my parents did not feel that they could spare me for the holiday season. I was, after all, their only daughter and thus in high demand. He was sad, but we both accepted it, and did not speak of it more.

This disappointment was the only bad news I had. The weeks passed well, bringing me to mid-December so quickly I couldn’t help but wonder where the time had gone. The Quidditch team was shaping up, though I had them out two nights and all day Saturday every week in order to bring about this improvement. I thought Celestine might never forgive me for the broom sores that she developed at first, but she in particular showed a vast improvement. My duties as Head Girl seemed to expand exponentially as the time came to coordinate students returning home, decorating the castle, the disposition of the students who would be staying, preparing the parts of the school that would be closed over the holiday, and so many other concerns that I was constantly afraid that I would forget something critical. Classwork was increasing apace, too, and the teachers seemed determined to cram as much as possible in to the weeks before Christmas; I had the bad feeling that this was in preparation for giving us a frightening pile of homework. 

Advanced potions continued to give me joy, thankfully, and the Headmaster was very impressed when I produced a large number of the freezing potions that I had learned off from the hidden library – had that truly only been two months before? He suggested to the others, who were all preparing for NEWT while I was busy with my OWLs, that they undertake independent research projects, and I seized this as an opportunity to get advice on my own independent research project – the potion that Celestine had requested of me. She had been able to obtain a sample of blood, and I was delighted to discover that it did seem to react to reagents as I had hoped, so I would be able to test possible cures on it. However, despite all the research that I had done, all the research that Celestine had done, I had absolutely no positive results to relate. Lycia, meanwhile, had agreed with her usual reticence to look over the necklace, and we’d not heard a thing from her since.

She came to me mere days later with an odd offer. Apparently, her awful cat had somehow found itself a female cat who thought it worth some time, and now Lycia found herself with a half dozen kittens and no time whatsoever to care for them. I shocked myself by agreeing readily to take one. It seemed to loath me on sight, as most animals do – Marcus’ hedgehog being the only exception I could think of at the time – but I decided that if I was going to try to improve myself, one way I could do so was to convince myself that animals had use as something other than potion ingredients after all. Sure enough, some cream was all it took to cause the kitten to warm to me, and soon my little Kate happily snuggled with me each evening and found ways to get in to trouble while I wasn’t around. Her name I thought clever: my initial instinct was to name the animal Kitty, lazy, I know, which led me to laugh that it would be more dignified if it were Katherine, and thus I arrived at Kate.

One of the more unfortunate side effects of the above was that Marcus and I had virtually no time together. My other friends – Fred and Celestine in particular, but increasingly also the Lunaris, Elaina, and some of the other girls – could join me while I was on patrol, or help me hang Christmas decorations, and thus we could have time together, but Marcus’ position and mine meant that we were almost never in the same place. It was very distressing to me, and I wondered if it was equally distressing to him.

The Durmstrangs remained inexplicably installed at the school and Nox was liable to show up wherever he was least expected. I saw little of him, though, for I was too busy, and most of the accounts I heard were second or third hand. Celestine seemed in particular to know a great deal of his comings and goings. Over the course of the month, I noticed too that Fred knew more and more; when I asked, I learned it was because the two had gotten closer, had discussed my sentiments about Galatea, and had been keeping an eye on her. Unfortunately, watching Galatea proved an excellent way to learn about the comings and goings of Headmaster Nox, for Galatea was often near him. My worries on this score increased, but there was nothing I could do.

All of this led up to the last weekend before the holidays. There was a Hogsmeade visit on Saturday and I found myself able to spare the day. Marcus and I once again managed to send each other letters at virtually the same instant, and it was easily agreed to that we would spend the time together – our first substantial interlude since our date in November. There was little homework, and with Auror Weasley looking over all of our shoulders and patrolling the town the Head Girl and Head Boy were relieved of the job of shepherding their fellow students.

On Friday, I took up the completed revolver, went to a place where I could be alone and tested it. I was determined that if somehow the whole thing had gone horribly wrong, no one would be hurt other than myself. Fortunately, my fears were unfounded and I was relieved and very gratified to discover that I had successfully produced a gun that was completely silent. If bullets were shot from it, they veered unerringly towards their intended target for a full 30 seconds before they simply fell uselessly to the ground – a safety feature I had thought would be necessary, or else a bullet that couldn’t reach its target might hover or pursue forever. The hit thus achieved would not necessarily be “on target” – if I aimed at a tree behind me, it might hit the tree at the root or go through a leaf or any place in between – but it would hit the tree. The bolts did not target accurately at all, and were pathetically weak, but they would fire. All of which is to say that it was far from perfect, it did all the things that I had hoped it would, and I was simultaneously proud of myself and disappointed that I’d not done better. 

I woke up Saturday morning in the highest of spirits. Even the fact that the last of my money would go to buying things for my parents could not bring me down. (Lest I seem a poor daughter, I should perhaps note that I had already purchased Christmas gifts for my parents over the previous summer, and my parents were certainly aware of this since those gifts were in a box in my room at home.) I don’t believe I had ever before spent so much of my time in the morning so concerned about my appearance. Though Marcus and I had passed in the hallways and had snatched a few minutes together here and there, it had been so long since we spent any substantial time together that I found I very much wanted him to think me attractive when he saw me. Oh, the things we do for a gentleman! I was ashamed of myself, for first I had mooned and sighed over a man, and now I was concerning myself overmuch with my appearance for a man. “Let he who is without sin,” as they say. Taking up the wrapped package that contained the revolver in its case, I headed to meet my beaux, accepting that I had taken so long at my toilette that there was no time for breakfast.

We met at the front entrance, where all of the students were assembling. Kate was tentatively following in my footsteps – I wondered if this was normal behavior for a cat – and before I could even say allow, Boggle ran from Marcus’ pocket, jumped on to me energetically and cheerfully, launched himself at my cat, and the two began to play happily. Marcus and I exchanged startled looks and laughed. “Well, they seem to get along well,” he commented, with a look at me that seemed to impart some extra meaning to what he said. I simply smiled back. “Shall we?” he asked, offering me his hand. I took it and – our frolicking pets trailing behind us – we started the walk to the village at a pleasant stroll.

It was a chilly day and I was glad that the outfit I had put together for myself included a fur-lined half-cloak and a muff. Of course, the muff was only in partial use, for one of my hands was held, perfectly snugly, in Marcus’, but it did well to keep my other hand from the cold. The sky was a lovely shade of crystalline blue and pale. Tatters of thin of cloud scurried across it, stretched out to streaks by whatever forces made them move at such speeds – perhaps the same winds that stirred my cloak and caused my skirts to catch about my legs. 

In the antics of our pets, I had not been able to observe Marcus taking note of my outfit, and the wind was quite ruining the effort I had put in to ordering my hair. Marcus looked superb, in a proper coat and pants with a thick lined robe over it – I’d not have been able to see what he wore beneath the robe if not for the wind. Indeed, as we walked it seemed to grow steadily colder to the point that soon Kate and Boggle gave up on playing and sought shelter, Boggle in Marcus’ coat pocket and Kate by finding her way under my skirts. With her underfoot and the tangle the wind caused, it’s a miracle I didn’t trip, but we were moving slowly enough, and the cat was savvy enough, that we managed.

The whole time we talked, though mostly of nothing. Indeed, the entire morning was spent in idle chit chat. We discussed the events of the preceding month, all the different things we were each busy with, that sort of thing. I related to him an account not dissimilar from that I gave above, of my new friendships, my different duties, my concerns about Galatea. I hid nothing save the contents of my mother’s note. He did ask, to my surprise, if I had heard from my parents again, and seemed disappointed when I said no. When I commented that I didn’t expect any other communication before the holiday he seemed sad. Marcus spoke of similar things. He was as busy as I, though in different areas. I won’t go in to the ways in which it was largely the same; the only significant difference was in the area of WAP training.

The astute reader may observe that I did not discuss GAB training in the account I gave above. This was because, with the extra duties that I faced before the holidays, and with the Lunari’s objections as well – though I don’t know on what grounds – it had been decided that we would commence training in January when school recess ended. WAP had continued, though. I didn’t press Marcus for information, despite my curiosity, but he shared it freely, and so I learned a great deal more about the state of things in the continent.

At that point, the WAP boys had gone to the mainland 7 times. The first I knew of, but the others were new to me. Four of them had concerned rescuing other wizards from capture, and these he told me in self-deprecating terms from which I was able to infer that he had been brave, noble, and self-sacrificing. All had been successfully completed, and the wizards freed, and though at one time or another all of the WAP boys had been injured, Mistress Alfred, the nurse, had been more than able to patch them up. The other two missions had been more like the first. Powerful wizards from Germany or her allies held a strong old and muggles were incapable of piercing these strong holds. As such, groups of wizards – of which in both instances WAP was only one –had assaulted the strongholds (often castles) and defeated the wizard with in. At least, that was what was supposed to happen. One of those missions had been a success, but the other had not been, and the wizard in question, by the name of Adolphus Gramsach, still resisted. They were planning a second mission to attack him.

He also told me, very solemnly, that I should stay away from Pellucid Nox. Apparently, in the castle that had fallen, they found many signs of Nox’ handiwork, automata that bore his maker’s mark and messages signed with his name. There was no longer any doubt that Nox was heavily involved in our opposition, and, furthermore, it was clear that he was a very important, high-ranking member. This begged the question of why he remained at Hogwarts. We had many suppositions, all of them unlikely, but we at least could be certain that he was up to no good. I wondered if, perhaps, it had something to do with the mirror that had been saved from the Durmstrang students, but Marcus didn’t know; he’d not heard a thing about the mirror since it had been retrieved, though he had seen it in Professor Patronius’ office.

We talked of happier things after that. The more we spoke of the dangers of what the Wizard Armed Patrol did, the more uneasy I felt. What if something happened to Marcus? What would I do? It was to my credit that, my confession made the previous month, there was no thought in my mind save my worry for his person, and my thoughts of how very much I would miss him. I resolved that if there was any way I could help him, were he in danger, I would so. I was so very proud of his bravery, and so afraid that he might go one time and never return!

The topic of our Christmas gifts came up, and we agreed to exchange them at the Hogshead when we went for lunch. Noting my burden, he offered to carry it for me, but I refused, pointing out that soon enough it would be his and he’d have to carry it himself. We talked of the coming holidays, and of our interests (though I continued to insist that I was, in truth, not very interesting at all!) and of nothing serious until the sadness of war left us. In improved spirits we wandered about the village, admiring the animals at the familiar shop, making the purchases for my mother and father, confirming that we were both far to grown up to buy candy even as we both selected our favorites for purchase – though Marcus ended up buying mine, since I had no money - and generally having a nice time of it. The best moment for me was surely when we entered Zonko’s Joke shop. Upon seeing me, the owner let out an exclamation of my name in the warmest tones, and informed me that he had sold all of the potions I had sent him, and he had been remiss in not sending me the proceeds, and if I would hold out my hand please. I did so and he gave me 5 galleons. I was astonished and thanked him profusely, and he declared that the pleasure was all his, and would I please provide him with the potions on a list he would have prepared momentarily. I left with my pocket jingling with coin and a list of than 20 potions he would purchase as soon as I could make them. I resolved to buy our lunch, to repay the candy that Marcus had bought me.

The Hogshead – which today is rather run down and unpleasant, having been supplanted by the newer and more agreeable Three Broomsticks – was then the only tavern in town, and did a rousing business all of the time. Marcus and I waited a full half an hour for a table to be free, but we were lucky when one did free up. We were placed in a corner, with a Christmas tree giving us privacy, close to the fire place and comfortably warm. We sat, Kate curled up in Marcus’ lap, placed our orders, and, for a moment, we both seemed to be at loss of what to do or say next.

We both started to laugh. Seeing the other laughing, we laughed even more, and we didn’t stop until a barman set down our butterbeers, eyeing us both as if we were lunatics. “Well, now that we’ve gotten that out of the way,” I said, breathless, wiping tears from my eyes, “I suppose all that remains is to exchange presents.” I passed him the box. He, meanwhile, passed me a small package that was surprisingly heavy. Once again, we stared at each other.

“You first,” we said simultaneously.

“Why don’t we open them at the same time?” asked Marcus, sipping his butterbeer. This agreed on, then, we did so at once.

My package contained a glass jar which was, adorably, shaped like a heart. The jar was tightly sealed with cork and wax and inside was a pale blue powder. I looked at it and noticed that it glittered faintly in the light. With my compendious knowledge of potions and their ingredients, I realized what it was and nearly dropped the bottle I was so shocked. Powdered gryphon scales! I glanced at Marcus – who was examining the box as if unsure how to open it – and wondered if he knew how much these were worth. Then I realized what a silly thought that was and was horrified that he had spent so much on me. Gryphons were rare, and they shed scales only rarely, and gathering the scales was dangerous. Add in that the powdered scales were a key thickening agent in many potions...and I now possessed an entire jar of them! I was thrilled, and immediately worried that my own gift would not please as much. I looked at him, worried, and saw him, looking at me, worried. “I love it!” I exclaimed, and he looked relieved. The box was still unopened.

At my slightly insistent look, Marcus opened the box, and whistled through his teeth. He lifted the gun out carefully. “This is that weapon the muggles use,” he sounded impressed, “the one that shoots pain bolts.”

“A gun,” I supplied. “It shoots bullets – they’re in the leather case.”

“But I don’t know how to use it,” he didn’t sound disappointed, though, he sounded intrigued. 

“I can show you,” and I winked, “this one doesn’t work like others do.” As I said that, he noticed the runes that I had acid-etched in to the barrel, and his eyes went wide.

“Did you do this?” he asked, astonished. I nodded, enthusiastically. “Wow.”

He held up the revolver and examined it at different angles. Now that I knew he liked it, I had my own question to ask. “How did you get them?” I burst.

“Huh?” he set the gun down. “Oh! Of course. Well, it was a funny thing, Professor Singh found himself raising a whole litter of young gryphons and he enlisted me to help. They’re adorable, but…violent. Anyway, they shed constantly while they’re growing and I knew what an important reagent the scales are. I thought that, given the difficulties of aiding the Professor, it would not be unreasonable for me to take the scales. He concurred, and there you have them!” He blushed slightly, and smiled hesitantly. “You really like them?”

“Oh, yes! I suppose it might be hard for someone who doesn’t feel as I do about potions to truly understand the delight I have, but believe me, there is a great deal of delight.” And we smiled warmly (an outside observer might have used the word “sickeningly”) at each other.

We enjoyed the rest of our meal in relative quiet, with dopey smiles and puppy dog eyes, and after we were finished we left the Hogshead, and we – still strolling – went to a deserted spot where I could demonstrate what the revolver did. Once he saw that, he was much more interested in the revolver even than he had been and I was gratified. He asked if I could show him how to enchant, too. 

The rest of the day passed, thankfully, in peace. I was dreading that at any moment something would happen, someone would need one or the other of us and we’d lose our precious time together, our last opportunity to be together before the end of the semester. We parted after dinner both hugely content, heaping thanks on the other for our gifts and comparing our schedules. Smaller and smaller amounts of time were starting to seem adequate, as long as had the pleasure of seeing each other.


	10. Comings and Goings

If I had thought that time before the holidays – all 5 days that remained! – would be uneventful, I was as shocked as the rest of the school when they turned out not to be. Indeed, I had the peculiar pleasure of being one of the people, one of the few, present when the event took place on Monday.

Auror Weasley had, since the arrest of Professor Tremens’, remained in the school. She mostly stormed around being a bother. I didn’t think much of her, and that was one of the nicest reactions I had encountered. I tolerated her entirely because she seemed to make the Headmaster happy. In addition to monitoring student activity, helping with detentions, overseeing the prefects, and any other job she could find herself, she also sometimes came to watch professors while they were working. Furthermore, she had taken over Professor Tremens’ classes in her absence, which meant that she taught Charms. Automata, which the professor knew nothing about, had been suspended until a new teacher could be found. 

I was in the lower level charms class, being quite poor at them. My classmates included Reginald, Fred, Elena, Lydia Malfoy, and Galatea, among a number of others. That fateful day, we were learning “petrificus totalus.” When Elaina, quietly, pointed out that this wasn’t really a charm, all she got in reply was a stern look, and so we all set about practicing the wand motion. However, no one wanted to volunteer to be struck by the spell. Finally, Auror Weasley got so frustrated that she stormed over to Reginald. “You, boy, you know the counterspell, right?” he nodded, petrified from merely being put on the spot. “Good. Cast the spell on me. That way, everyone will see that there is nothing to worry about, and we can get on with the lesson.” The whole thing was said quickly, in a waspish, irritated tone.

Reginald was clearly terrified. His wand hand was shaking. He was about to attack a teacher, but was it really the wrong thing to do if the teacher had ordered him to do it? His lip trembled as he worked up the nerve. The first time he tried, he stumbled over the words so badly that nothing happened. “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” exclaimed Auror Weasley. She seized his hand, held it steady, and made the motions for him. “You have it?” 

He nodded, set his jaw, steadied his hand, and, as firmly as he could manage – he only quavered slightly – he said, “Petrificus Totallus!” …and Auror Weasley was petrified!

With that done, of course, he immediately cast the counter, which was “Sullatot Sucifirtep,” and his voice was much steadier. 

Nothing happened. 

He tried again, shaking, and still nothing happened. Fred, who had been partnered with him for spell practice, tried it, and nothing happened. Hesitantly, she approached the Auror, who had fallen onto cushions laid out for the purpose. She tried the spell again, bent down over her, and...

“Auror Weasley…Auror Weasley is dead!” she screamed.

“What did you DO?” demanded Lydia Malfoy of Reginald. 

“Nothing, nothing,” he stammered.

“Right.” I snapped. “I’m going to get the Headmaster.”

“I didn’t do anything,” squeaked Reginald.

“I know that,” I replied, “we all saw what you did. No one leave, I’ll be back soon.”

I ran.

The Headmaster ran too, more flustered and upset than I had ever seen him. He assessed the scene in a hurry, and glanced at me. “Ms. Prince,” he said, his voice broken, “I am certain that you had no part in this, so please gather the Prefects and the Head Boy, and have the students assembled in the Great Hall before rumors can start. I will undertake the investigation myself. Inform the other teachers.”

It was all done as he said. The students babbled in hushed tones, wondering what had happened. I had hastily explained to the teachers, and to Marcus, but no one else had any inkling of the truth. Those who had been in Charms were kept apart from the rest of the student body. As such, as it always does, rumors flew wildly every which way, not a one of them close to the mark. Minutes after everyone was assembled, Professor Lestrange took command of the situation in her usual brusque way, forcing the rumors down to so soft a tone that she couldn’t hear them. Suddenly, there was a pounding on the doors to the Great Hall. Marcus, who was standing before them, looked at Professor Lestrange.

“Open them,” she snapped. And he did so.

Professor Tremens’ came sweeping in to the room, followed by…Auror Weasley! I gasped, and it sounded very loud in the quiet Great Hall. “Yes!” exclaimed the Professor, misunderstanding, “my sentence has been suspended, I’ve been freed! And it’s all thanks to this wonderful woman,” she threw her arm around Auror Weasley and hugged her and kissed her on the cheek. I realized, belatedly, that if it was actually Auror Weasley, she had grown her hair a foot and changed clothing in to an outfit unlike anything she had ever worn around the castle. The Auror always wore full dress robes. This woman was dressed in a strange assembly of wizarding items and muggle things, and looked quite…well, the nicest thing I could call it was odd.

The stress of the day made all difficult, but the relief of seeing Professor Tremens was profound. As a group, my entire house rose and went to her. Professor Lestrange –coughing her disapproval – did not stop us from celebrating cheerfully. Knowing what had happened to Auror Weasley cast a pall over the reunion, though, so I edged up to the stranger, and in the hubbub I asked her quietly, “are you Auror Weasley’s sister?”

She smiled happily. “Oh, you recognize me!” I nearly choked. They were almost identical, how could I not recognize her! “Yes, Maeve is my twin, I’m Maude! Is my sister about?”

I looked at her steadily, and then glanced towards Professor Lestrange. She was tut-tutting the noise. I looked to Professor Tremens’, but she was absorbed in her welcome. And so I edged over to Marcus, who was guarding the door. “I need to go out,” I said. He nodded, and I went back to Maude Weasley. “Can you come with me? I’ll explain as we go.” She nodded more solemnly, seeming to catch my tone. We snuck out, mostly unnoticed, and I walked hurriedly towards the classroom where I knew the interrogation of my classmates was being conducted.

Though I had gained a lot of varied experiences in recent months, I had learned nothing that could help me figure out how to tell a woman that her sister had just been murdered, and that I was taking her to the scene. I felt awful, awful about what happened, awful for this poor clueless woman, awful for Headmaster Nigellus. But I had to say something. “Ms. Weasley?” I asked hesitantly. 

“Yes?” she smiled pleasantly. Her personality was like day to Auror Weasley’s night. 

“I…I have some bad news to tell you.”

“Oh? Has my sister already left? Tsk, what a pity! Well, she’s always in a hurry to go somewhere, but I had so hoped to see her today, she had assured me she would be at Hogwarts as long as that man Nox was here…”

“No, no, she didn’t leave, she…” all I could do was say it, right? “Earlier today, she was teaching the Charms class, and she died.” I felt like an insensitive wretch.

“Well, no wonder she left,” dithered Ms. Weasley, “she did always hate teaching! La, when I see her, I’ll tell her that she can come back, she doesn’t have to teach now that Icaria is back, and…” she paused, and pushed her glasses up her nose. “Wait, what did you say?”

I swallowed hard. “She just…just died,” I stuttered lamely. “I was there, and I didn’t understand it, either. Reginald just cast ‘petrificus totallus’ on her – she had ordered him to do so – and when he cast the counterspell, it didn’t work, because she was…she was…Oh!! I’m so sorry!” I exclaimed, all my misery apparent in my tone.

“No,” she said softly, and she wasn’t babbling or silly anymore, “you don’t need to apologize, child, you’ve done nothing wrong. I daresay this boy, Reginald, hasn’t done anything wrong, either. It’s good that I’m here, I can help poor Phineas, he’ll be terribly upset.”

“Yes,” I said, still miserable, “he was – is. Well, we’re here. This is where it happened, and Headmaster Nigellus is inside, along with the students who were in the class, other than me.”

“Thank you,” she said solemnly to me, and I opened the door for her. I needed to get back to the Great Hall without being noticed, so I didn’t go in, but I caught a glimpse of the Headmaster looming over Reginald, who was cowering in a chair, by himself, in the middle of the room, as I closed the door behind Ms. Weasley. I hadn’t liked Auror Weasley much, but it was still so terrible that I wished none of it had happened.

I hurried back to the Great Hall through the twisting corridors of the school. It was eerily quiet. Night was falling – early, for it was nearly the solstice – and though the torches that lit the hallways were springing to life, they still seemed like isolated islands of yellow in a sea of gray. With all of the students and staff assembled, there was not another living soul in the halls, and I found myself hurrying to escape the creepy sense of emptiness. One of the suits of armor – wreathed in a garland strung with bright red berries which seemed a washed out ocher in the twilight – turned and waved to me merrily, but even this could not alleviate the oppressiveness of the castle. Murder had been done, and I was alone in deserted corridors. I ran.

I was puffing as I arrived on the brightly lit stretch before the Great Hall, and it dawned on me that I had a problem. How was I to sneak back in with the doors guarded? Perhaps if I tapped lightly, Marcus would hear? Assuming he was still the one before the doors, he would let me in. I walked slowly towards the doors…and realized I had nothing to worry about it. Marcus now stood sentry outside them, instead. He saw me and waved, showing no sign of being affected by the atmosphere that had frightened me so. “Professor Lestrange asked me to make sure we would not be surprised again,” he explained. “Is the lady alright?”

“As well as could be expected,” I replied sadly. “Auror Weasley was her twin sister.” He nodded expressively.

We stood silently for a few minutes, Marcus holding my hand but saying nothing, and then he sighed. “I would like your company; there is something about tonight…” he shook his head. It wasn’t just me after all! “Professor Tremens’ was asking where you were, she said she wanted to thank you for something, though she didn’t say what.”

“Probably to do with the key,” I replied. He agreed, and opened the door enough for me to dart in to the Great Hall.

Things were as I had left them, everyone at their tables. The Ravenclaws – and a few students from other houses who were partial to Automata or Charms – were huddled in a babbling mass around the Professor, who was conducting the whole affair like a queen among her subjects, though a very gracious and kind queen. The students at the other tables talked quietly amongst themselves. Professor Lestrange stood before the staff table, arms folded under her breast, looking furiously at the lot, but she could hardly shush the students from other houses while the Ravenclaws were so boisterous, and Professor Tremens’ made no effort whatsoever to keep them quiet. 

I was moving towards the cluster of my housemates when one of the Lunaris came up to me. “What’s going down?” she asked.

“I…I’m sure it will be announced soon enough,” I said softly. “If Professor Lestrange hasn’t announced it yet, it’s not my place to do so.” 

“Come on,” she joked, “you can tell me!”

“No, I really shouldn’t. I’m sorry.”

She looked at me, shocked, perhaps that I was following the rules so assiduously, and then left, soundlessly shaking her head in wonder.

Professor Tremens’ greeted me warmly, hugged me aggressively, thanked me for my help with “you know what,” and was generally cheerful and thrilled and happy. She didn’t talk about being in the prison, though a few students asked. It was a reasonable curiosity; set on an island, Azkaban was a solid fortress. No one had ever escaped from it, and very few people ever left. Only those sentenced to life imprisonment went there; others were held in less secure facilities. It was supposedly grim, and it always rained, and people were worked to death doing menial, pointless tasks, or died of boredom or starvation. All anyone really knew were rumors. She deflected attempts to gain more solid intelligence, though, saying that it was awful and that none of us should have to worry about such things, and then went right on with her effervescence.

The minutes seemed to crawl by but, at length, the doors swung open and Headmaster Nigellus, Ms. Weasley at his side, came in to the Great Hall, with the students he had been questioning trailing behind. A buzz of talk filled the room.

“I will have silence,” and quiet fell immediately. People talked of Headmaster Nigellus’ temper, and they talked of his strictness, but none of us had heard him sound like this. He was perfectly quiet, and perfectly calm, and his tone brooked no refusal. The quiet was absolute as the students who had followed him went to their tables. The Ravenclaws and other admirers around Professor Tremens’ took their seats, and the Headmaster walked to stand beside Professor Lestrange. The only sound was the rustle of robes and scraping of shoes across the stone floor.

Lestrange moved aside, and the Headmaster took her place, commanding the attention of the entire room. “At 2:13 this afternoon, Auror Maeve Weasley died while teaching the beginning Charms class in the West Wing,” he glared for a moment at Reginald, who was already white as a sheet and who now blanched somehow even further. “She was poisoned. The Ministry of Magic has been contacted and is sending Aurors to investigate this crime. They will arrive shortly and commence questioning each and every one of you, at which point you will be permitted to leave the Hall. Until then, you will sit silently, you will not move, you will not whisper. You will wait. Any student who violates these injunctions will spend a very long time regretting it.” And he took his seat, still as a statue. Maude Weasley stood behind him just as still, and we all waited, and not a sound was heard.

Determined to set a good example, I sat still, eyes straight ahead, hands clasped on the table. The minutes passed slowly, and I filled them by cataloging what ingredients I would need to obtain for the potions I planned to brew over the winter break. My reserves were running low, and a week would be enough time for most potions to properly come together, but I would need to do some shopping, and that would require money, which, thanks to Zonko’s, I had. Very neat, really. I also began to go through the list of potions I knew that contained Gryphon scales, and picked one or two choice ones to attempt to make. Outside of class, I’d never had access to Gryphon scale before, and it would be great to have the chance to try some of those brews!

Thus in this fashion did I pass the time, and I was pleased with it, until the Aurors from the Ministry of Magic arrived. There were three of them, and all looked severe. They came in to the Great Hall, held whispered conference in the Great Hall, and then two of them went to the teachers’ lounge, while the third read from a parchment he was holding.

“Under the authority of Statute 21, clause 4A, I, Auror Thelorius Monkwort, announce the opening of the inquest in to the circumstances surrounding the demise of Auror Maeve Weasley, hereafter called the deceased. Having received assurance that the deceased has died in questionable circumstances, in accordance with the law, investigation will commence with the questioning of witnesses with first knowledge of the habits and activities of the deceased.

“I will call your names one at a time. When I do, please come forward, surrender your wand and I will escort you in to the room,” he gestured as if we could be in doubt, “and you will be questioned. If,” somehow, Auror Monkwort made it sound like this was really a doubt for each and every one of us, “you are found to have no involvement, your wand will be returned to you and you will be dismissed.” He paused, consulted his paper, and then said, “Marcus Relius.”  
Marcus, looking surprised, nonetheless immediately proceeded up to the front, surrendered his wand to the Auror, and followed his escort.

Not too terribly long after – I didn’t think it was more than 10 minutes – Auror Monkwort returned. I felt a chill – if they spent that long questioning everyone, it would take most of the night. I felt a dull throb of impending pain from my stiff back – oh, keeping up my postured on wooden benches! – that foretold how very unpleasant that would be. I was spared further aches, though, as the next name called was my own. Afterwards, I learned that the Head Boy and Head Girl were called first to make a good example, and the prefects called last for the same reason, and had even more reason to thank my luck.

My questioning took longer than Marcus’ since I had been a witness to the affair. If it had been particular pleasant, or unpleasant, or onerous, I would recap it here, but in truth retelling it would add little to my account. They asked me about my relationship with the deceased, what I knew of her, and to retell had had happened in the classroom that day. They asked me a few extra questions I suspected were entirely intended to cause me to slip up if I had told a lie; since I hadn’t done so I simply reiterated what my answers, explained any mistakes I made, and finally Auror Orion escorted me to the back door as Auror Monkwort went to get the next student. Auror Orion told me, jocularly, that they had wanted to call me early on because the Headmaster had assured them that I would give an honest account of the what happened; I flushed slightly with pride at this high praise.

The hallway was just as empty as it had been earlier as Auror Orion shook my hand and went back inside, but all the torches were lit and the hallways no longer seemed as scary. I started towards the Ravenclaw common room, thinking perhaps I might get some work done this evening, but as I rounded the first corner I walked directly in to Marcus, such that I tumbled to the floor; he had just been moving forward to look anxiously round that same corner.

“I’m sorry,” he exclaimed, very apologetically indeed, “so sorry, here,” and he helped me up and helped me smooth my skirts out despite my blushes. He stopped, wiping his hands on his own robes. “Sorry,” he added again; he was blushing too.

“It’s alright,” I replied. “Is everything okay?” 

He nodded. “I was waiting for you,” he supplied, “though I had no idea of it being so soon – indeed, given that I was called first, I rather feared that you would be called last, Head Boy and Head Girl on each end, that sort of thing. I would have waited,” he added loyally.

“Well, I’m glad that you don’t have to,” I smiled. “I promised I would explain…” I trailed off, wondering if he wanted that explanation now, and he nodded. So, in whispered tones, I related to him the whole of what I knew of what had happened, leaving nothing out. We sat on a bench just down the hall and talked in whispered tones so that we wouldn’t get caught and punished lingering in the hallways. Every 5 to 10 minutes, a student would go by, and we would both assume the stern air of The Head Boy and The Head Girl and tell them that we were there to make sure they went directly back to their common room, even as we did no such thing ourselves. And for all that we were both rules-followers, we didn’t suppose that the students listened; the creepy feeling I had felt earlier had shifted slightly in to a feeling of mystery, and somehow I knew that nothing would keep students in their dorm rooms tonight, there was too much fascination in exploring. If even I felt it, it must have been a powerful urge indeed!

We continued after my initial telling by considering and discarding theories for what had happened. I maintained that Pellucid Nox must have been involved, and that the Auror’s were wasting their time questioning the Hogwarts students when such as he roamed the school grounds freely. Marcus wasn’t as convinced, but it gave us something to talk about. The fifth student who went by us, meanwhile, was Fred.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, seeing us, “is everything alright?”

“I feel obliged to tell you,” said Marcus in the tone he thought was firm that he always used when he was being ‘The Head Boy,’ “as your prefect, that it is of the utmost importance that you return to the Hufflepuff dormitory and remain there. This is no night for wandering the castle when murder has been done.”

Instead of hurrying to do mischief out of sight, I didn’t add, though I was convinced the others had done so. Fred tilted her head at us and said, “but you haven’t returned to the dorms.”

“Of course not,” I said firmly, “we’re here to tell everyone else to go to the dorms.”

“But…nobody told you to do that,” Fred half asked, half said. It was too much; I broke in to giggles. She joined me. “You’re talking about what happened, aren’t you? Can I join you? Are you going to do something about it? Can I help?”

Marcus and I exchanged looks. “We are talking about it…” Marcus owned with a secretive smile.

“But we certainly weren’t considering ‘doing something about it,’” I said, but my tone was speculative. I hadn’t been thinking about doing anything at all, other than talk about it and spin out fantastic theories, but now I was.

“Oh,” Fred sounded disappointed. “But just think about it! While all of the Aurors are questioning the students, the real culprit could be getting away!”

“So you think there is no chance that student was behind it?” I asked, doing my best to conceal my doubt. As much as I didn’t want to believe it of one of my classmates, there were some of them – Caius Serence came to mind – who I would believe capable of anything, and Auror Weasley’s brusque attitude and strict adherence to rules and order had not made her popular least. Of course, being strict didn’t get one murdered, or else Professor Lestrange and Headmaster Nigellus both would have been killed years since. 

Both Marcus and Fred, on the other hand, clearly thought there was no chance a student was responsible, and they looked at me as if I must have been insane to even suggest that a student was behind the crime.

“Right,” I muttered.

“So where should we begin?” asked Fred. Apparently, by asking what I did, I had agreed to help.

“I think we should start by talking to the ghosts,” I said. “Since Auror Weasley was murdered, maybe her ghost is wandering around.”

“That’s a good idea,” said Marcus. 

We consulted for a minute or two and then split up. We would look around until one of us found a ghost; we’d meet back up in Classroom 4 – which was down the hall from the Charms classroom where the crime had taken place – in 15 minutes, and we’d see what we could find out.

My 15 minutes were utterly fruitless; I wandered around all of the places I knew the Gray Lady and the Fat Friar frequented, but I couldn’t find either of them, and was feeling frustrated when I arrived at Classroom 4. A few minutes after I got there, Marcus arrived, trailed by Sir Nicholas, who seemed puzzled, and then Fred came a moment later; she was also alone. Fred and Marcus both took up positions near me, so we were standing in a line facing the ghost. It felt like we were about to begin our own interrogation.

“So what’s this all about?” asked Sir Nicholas, nonplussed.

“We were wondering if you might be able to help us,” I began.

“We’re investigating Auror Weasley’s death,” enthused Fred.

“Oh dear,” replied Sir Nicholas, his face taking a sad cast. He hung his head in a reflection of this sadness, but his neck couldn’t support the action and his head flopped off to dangle by its barely-connected tendril of flesh. He affixed it back in place as I turned away in disgust.

Marcus took my hand and gave it a fortifying squeeze, and shot me a look to match, and I blushed and turned back. I was happy though; he didn’t release my hand.

“It’s a very sad business,” Sir Nicholas continued, “but I don’t see how I can help.”

“We thought perhaps the Auror might have joined the ranks of the school ghosts, given how she died,” explained Marcus.

Nicholas frowned. “Not that I know of, I’m afraid. And I think I’d know if she had; usually we know immediately when another joins us, something about the process that creates us makes it impossible for us not to know.” His frown deepened. “Then again,” he eyed us, a considering look in his eyes, “with what has been going on in the dungeons, it’s possible that we might not have…felt…it. The things that happen down there,” he added, shuddering, “are very disruptive to the latent psycho-spiritual barriers around Hogwarts, very disruptive, very disconcerting.”

I glanced at Marcus, and remembered what the Gray Lady had said about what was happening in the dungeon, and what Marcus had told me about the things that had escaped the night of the Zeppelin attacks. “What is happening down there?” I asked, unable to repress my curiosity.

“An abomination,” Sir Nicholas replied in a tone that made it clear that he would not explain further. He then gave lie to the tone, adding, “souls were never meant to be used in such a barbaric fashion.” And he snapped his mouth shut.

“Could you check for us – check if she’s a ghost?” asked Fred.

“Well…I suppose so,” he said reluctantly. “I’ll return shortly. I don’t expect to find anything.”

“We’ll be in the Charms classroom,” Marcus said, and I stared at him, but Nicholas didn’t seem to find this odd, and he nodded and floated through the floor.

“We can’t go in there,” I exclaimed.

“How can we investigate if we don’t?”

“I…I…since when are you the one who breaks the rules?” I spluttered. Fred laughed.

Without further discussion, we gained access to the Charms classroom with depressing ease. The three of us spent nearly an hour looking over every single corner of the room. We found a desk that had been carved with “T Loves U,” a small secret cubby behind a stone in the wall that contained a strange lump of some waxy substance that made our fingers tingle and a note that read “Beware! RTT,” a small lizard which got in to a quarrel with Boggle (which was broken up by Kate and Mr. Whiskers, Fred’s rat), and an aggressive dust bunny or two which left us sneezing. We found nothing of any relevance, and finally I stopped after I explored the chandelier on the ceiling. “You know,” I said, “this is a waste of time. The Headmaster said she was poisoned, right? It could have happened any time in the last few days.”

Marcus laughed ruefully; Fred looked ashamed and sneezed. “Quite right,” he said; he came over and helped me down from the desk I was standing on. Once again, he didn’t let go of my hand even when my feet were once more safely on the ground. Having a boyfriend was, I decided, very nice. “It didn’t hurt to look, though.”

“Not at all,” I agreed, with a passable attempt at good humor. It actually had been kind of fun to turn the classroom inside out looking for odd things, even if it hadn’t served our immediate purpose.

“I suppose that’s that, then?” 

“Wait,” Fred said, slightly nasally, wiping her nose with a kerchief. “There is one other thing we could try…” she reached in to the basket she always carried and pulled out a bag of large, conch shaped chocolates. “I…I didn’t mention it sooner, because I haven’t tested them thoroughly yet, so I’m not sure they work.”

“What do you they do?” I asked.

“They let you talk to ghosts!”

I frowned slightly. “Can’t we talk to ghosts anyway? We spoke to Sir Nicholas earlier…”

“No, no,” she shook her head, and dust settled from her hair. “I mean, yes, but this is different. Some spirits manifest like Sir Nicholas, but some don’t, but they’re still kind of there – spirits often linger right after they die. I did a lot of research before trying to make the chocolate.”

“So Auror Weasley’s spirit might still be in the room, even though she hasn’t become a ghost?” Marcus sounded surprised. I hadn’t known it was possible either. Fred nodded vigorously. “Alright, then, pass me one of the chocolates. If there’s a chance that it’s dangerous, it’s only appropriate that I be the one to try.” 

“Now wait,” I began, and Fred started at the same moment, but he moved forward (releasing my hand) and took the bag from her and ate a chocolate, just like that. I sighed, and prepared to find a way to get him to the Infirmary, given that he was larger than us and neither Fred nor I was proficient at spells.

“It’s quite tasty,” Marcus commented, “but it doesn’t seem to do anything.”

“It’s always taken a minute or so when I’ve tested it,” Fred said nervously. “Oh, I should have been the one to eat it, they usually work right when I eat them, but I don’t know about anyone else…”

The minute passed, and all Marcus said was that he saw nothing. He stuck his head in to the hall, and still saw nothing. Fred’s chocolates never worked for more than about 5 minutes; when 4 had passed with no effect, Fred took one herself, and, with a sigh, I did the same. The entire time passed for all of us without seeing a single spirit. Fred was astonished. “That’s never happened before,” she said nervously, still looking around, trying desperately to see what clearly was not there to be seen. “When I’ve eaten them back home, I’ve always seen SOMETHING, even if only an animal spirit or a glow around an item or two – sometimes items have, I don’t know, auras that are visible with this chocolate. I don’t think this was my chocolates not working; I don’t know what it was…what it wasn’t, I suppose I should say. It makes me nervous.”

“Well, there’s nothing we can do about it,” I said, a little disappointed.

“Can either of you think of anything we haven’t tried?” asked Marcus. We all stood there, silent, for several minutes. I wracked my brain for other approaches we might use to further the investigation, but finally I was forced to shake my head.

“Nothing,” I said, and Fred sadly shook her head in agreement. “If it was a poisoning, it could have happened any time in the last few days. We don’t know where, we don’t know her habits or what she ate, we don’t know who she’s been spending time with, and we don’t have any way to find out. I think there’s nothing much we can do.”

Both Marcus and Fred agreed with me, though reluctantly, and so we made our way through the hall ways of the school. It was late, and finally we decided that it would be best if we all returned to our dormitories. The entire effort had been a sad waste of time, and yet I hadn’t minded. It was fun to play the sleuth with my friends; I found myself wishing that Celestine had been with us as well. I finished my evening studying as the students slowly returned from their interrogations, and when I finally went to sleep, my last thought was to wonder why there were no errant spirits in the castle, and what it might mean. It sounded to me like something that boded nothing good.


	11. Christmas

The Aurors remained at Hogwarts investigating until the train left to bring students home for Christmas on the following Saturday, but if they found out anything they didn’t share it with us. At various times myself, Marcus and Fred made vague inquiries to learn more about it, but we were not great shakes as detective, and none of us found out a thing. As the holiday approached, increasingly the murder was out of my mind. I was not looking forward to going home. School was so much nicer. I could spend time with my friends, and Professor Tremens was being even more generous and free-spirited than normal since her return, making life in the Ravenclaw dormitory a joy as she randomly produced candy for us, or decorations, or Christmas gifts. Her effusive spirits were contagious, but their effect on me was strictly temporary. When I realized that I’d soon have to go home and be alone for the entire 10 days except for my family – who, given their disapproval of my choice of boyfriend, might well arrange me a marriage before the break was out – I was miserable.

Of course, there are always a million and one things for those students with authority to do on the train ride. Why, oh why, can’t Hogwarts students be trusted not to get in to mischief for even one 6 hour train ride? But they couldn’t be so trusted, not in the least. My lot was still better than that of Marcus and the WAP boys. Due to fears that the train might be attacked on the way to London, they were forced to accompany it on broomstick. The only reason that the girls were not doing the same was that GAB training hadn’t officially started yet. With those 5 prominent, often restraining, upper class influences absent from the hallways, it seemed that more trouble was made even then normal, and so I hurried up and down the train putting out at least a dozen figurative, and one literal, fire.

It was a relief when the train pulled in to the station. I hadn’t gotten to sit down once the entire time. The students disembarked as fast as they could, their heads full of loving families, warm fires, Christmas trees surrounded by gifts, eggnog, and snow ball fights (though there was not an inch of snow on the ground, only an awful muddy slush, so in this at least they were certain to be disappointed). The WAP boys landed, looking frostbitten and miserable, and though the prefects and I were to stay behind and make sure that all of the students and their belongings were off the train and to take care of cleaning it, I managed to sneak away to say my farewells to Marcus before he left.

“Delia,” he said with a warmth that was only apparent in his voice – his face was almost blue, and his lips a frightening white, “I was worried I’d not get to see you before I left.”

“I was worried about that too,” I smiled shyly and pink flushed his frozen cheeks. 

He took my hands, apologizing for how cold his own were, and looked around. Most of the students and their families had left. All those that remained were the relatives of students in WAP. “Is your family here?” he asked. “Have you received any more word of them?”

“They’re not meeting me at the station,” I replied, “and no, nor was expecting to. Why do you keep asking me about that?” Once again, my announcement at this lack of communication seemed to bring acute disappointment and he sighed. I continued, feeling incredibly nervous. “So, um, is your family here?”

“Oh!” exclaimed Marcus, and color was definitely return to his skin now. “Just my father, but how rude of me!” Letting go of one of my hands he pulled me after him to a man who looked very little like Marcus. I’d never have thought them related if he hadn’t told me. His father was kind of short, and kind of round, and very jolly looking. He had the look of a person who smiled often; and he smiled now, and broadly, to see his son.

“Marcus!” his father exclaimed, and the family resemblance emerged from his tone and general enthusiasm. “Capital! How are you, m’boy?”

“I’m well dad,” replied Marcus. He wore a respectful and caring expression as he looked at his father, and his father wore a proud and doting one of his own. I felt a distant stirring of what I hated to acknowledge was jealousy. “There’s someone I want you to meet.” All thoughts of jealous flew from my mind. Meeting Marcus’ father!

“Oh ho ho,” chuckled father with a knowing look, “so is this the young lady you were so eager to have at Whitebrook for the holiday?” He turned to me, and I colored. “He has written us no less than four times to make sure that it was all right. I’m very sorry to hear you won’t be able to.”

“Me too,” I said ruefully, and then caught myself. “That is to say, Marcus described it as so near on idyllic that I think it would truly have been a delight for me to be able to come, but unfortunately my parents are unable to part with me – with so much of the year spent at school, we get to see so very little of each other.”

“Don’t worry, don’t worry,” hastened father, “I understand perfectly. I’d have been reluctant to let my boy spend the holidays with strangers, too, and I haven’t a daughter’s dignity and virtue to be concerned about.” He was still smiling, but his eyes betrayed a shrewdness. “Well, where are my manners!” He thrust a hand at me. “William Relious. Work at the Ministry, domestic affairs division.”

I took his hand, reluctantly releasing Marcus’. “Delia Prince. I’m in Ravenclaw,” I continued.

“I know. Head Girl, too! But of course Marcus has told us all about you,” his father was chuckling again, and Marcus colored beet red. I was only a shade lighter. “Well, I imagine you have to see about your duties. And we have to get going! We’re staying at the Black House in town through the 25th, and then we’ll be returning to Whitebrook for the duration. Who knows, maybe our paths will cross again!” And he turned away firmly and walked about 10 paces, making no effort whatsoever to encourage Marcus to come with him, before stopping and dithering in a sort of practiced obliviousness. I goggled. What an amazing, wonderful fellow!  
Marcus hurriedly took his opportunity. He took my hand, and we gazed into each other’s eyes in what could only be called from an outside perspective as a very silly fashion, and then he embraced me warmly. I returned the hug with as much warmth, and felt tears in my eyes. I was bitterly unhappy that my parents had not let me go with him, and it bothered me that I was to be divided from him for more than two weeks. He patted my head and murmured something I couldn’t make out. All too soon, we each forced the other away. With one last lingering touch of hands, I turned away and went back to the train, sniffling and ignoring the tear that streaked down my cheek. I didn’t look back. In truth, I’m quite mortified by how very silly we were, oh, the sacrifice of an entire two weeks, but we were young, and I was very much in love with him - we were very much in love with each other, I was beginning to understand.

Once the train was clean, the last few delayed cantrips that might have caused havoc dispelled, I made my way home. It was a long walk from the station, but I hadn’t any muggle money to hire a carriage, and in those days there were few alternative modes of transportation. I had known this would be the case, and so carried only one small bag which contained the items from Hogsmeade and a few odds and ends that I could not do without, some potion ingredients and toiletries. I had potion equipment and clothing aplenty at home which I could use, so I was not concerned.

My parents greeted me with restrained goodwill, and we spoke of nothing for a good while. I sensed there was something awkward in the air, though I had no idea what, and as I did not have the sort of family where one asked such things, I instead “enjoyed” being home. When I’m away, it’s easy to forget how nice home could be before my parents remembered all the ways in which I was a disappointment. For now, they were delighted – in their own quiet, proper way – that I was back. So we talked of things, and mother told me of society, and father spoke of work with dark mutters thrown in about politics – but politics was not something to speak to a daughter about, of course! – and in this fashion we passed a pleasant dinner.

After the meal, we adjourned to the sitting room, and I noticed something odd on the table by my father’s chair. It was a letter on thick parchment, and it sat atop a black envelope on which the Black family seal stood out in sharp silver.

“What’s that?” I asked, curious, “Is everything alright?”

Both of my parents glanced at the letter, and I knew at once that it was the source of the tension that I had been feeling. I felt a stab of concern that I could not dispel. This had something to do with Marcus. Perhaps the Relious family and their happy-go-lucky tendencies had earned the wrath of the Black family? If that were the case, though Relious was a pure blood family, my parents would strictly forbid me having any more contact with him. It would pain me a great deal to have to go against them, which I certainly would. 

“Ah,” said my father into the silence, “that.” He settled heavily in his sitting chair, and mother delicately followed suit. He gestured for me to take a seat, and I do so, nervously, not even attempting to get comfortable. My stomach was tied up in knots. This could become an argument quickly if the letter was what I feared. “You haven’t been honest with us, Delia,” he proceeded sternly. I wanted to protest that I had been perfectly honest, for I more or less had been, but I held my tongue. “You informed us that this boy was a member of the Relious family, but you neglected to inform us of who his mother was.” I wracked my brain. Had I not said that his mother was a Black? I couldn’t recall for certain but I thought perhaps he was right. It hadn’t occurred to me. We wizards of pureblood families are taught family trees with our mother’s milk, and I assumed my parents would know the Black tree as well as our own, well enough to know where one of the Black daughters had married. “This changes things, puts them in a new light.”

“Your father and I have talked to over,” my mother continued. “You understand, this is very serious?” She waited for me to answer. I still wasn’t even sure what the matter was, though I was beginning to think my assumption that it was bad might have been incorrect, so I nodded. I wished I knew what “this” was. “Good. You’ve always been a very perceptive, astute girl.” It felt odd to hear the compliment. I wished they’d get on with it.

“We feel that it would be best if you spent the holiday with the Relious – with the Blacks,” my father added with emphasis.

I gasped loudly. My mother sniffed at my lack of breeding, but I couldn’t help it. I started to laugh. “Really?” I asked. “I can spend the holiday with Marcus – at Whitebrook?” I hastily corrected.

“Of course, you silly girl!” my mother snapped. “If you had told us from the first that he was a Black, not this silly Relious nonsense, I’d never have stopped you. You did very wrong not to say so! As it is, we expect you to rectify this mistake and make sure that they perceive no slight in our initial refusal. We’re in no position to offend a family like the Blacks.” Her lecture done, she broke in to what – for her – was a warm smile. “My daughter, with a Black interested in her! When I heard the boy was a Hufflepuff,” she sniffed, not finishing the sentence, “but a Black, and Head Boy! Oh, you’ve done quite well. I had hoped…but that is no matter.”

“I wouldn’t be a Black,” I said, slowly. I didn’t want to cause her approval to slip, but she – and father, too – would be more angry later if they realized the truth then if I didn’t say anything at all.

“Nonsense,” my mother dismissed my concerns, “that’s an easy enough matter to deal with. The Blacks will understand that we could never allow the name of Prince to be associated with the name of Relious, and we’ll discuss the possibility of this boy taking his mother’s last name. They know what an advantageous match this is on both sides, they’ll surely agree.”

My head swam. They approved! Of course, this talk of switching the names sounded like a disaster in the making – the Blacks, I imagined, couldn’t possibly disapprove of the Relious’ like we did and still allow a Black daughter to marry in to the family without disowning her – but now was not the moment to argue such things. “It’s a little early to be talking about taking names and such,” I said in a hurry, realizing my cheeks were pink. My mother, perhaps catching something in my tone, looked at me intently.

“Indeed, indeed,” my father said, noticing nothing. “Your mother is just excited. Alasdair has shown no inclination for marriage. Of course, with a daughter it’s different – we’ve been keeping an eye out for a suitable wizard for some time, and we’d been approached on more than one occasion. We’d intended to settle something this summer – the Serences made a fine offer. But you’ve beaten us to the punch. A fine match,” he picked up his pipe and puffed it thoughtfully. 

The thought of my marrying Caius Serence, who was universally cold, arrogant and, I suspected, cruel, helped me to truly appreciate the trap that I had dodged when I set my own plans in action. “You’d have saved us a great deal of embarrassment…” my mother added threateningly.

I wanted to argue, but it didn’t matter. They didn’t disapprove now that they knew the quality of his blood, and they had given me their permission to go, which was all I’d wanted from the start. Thus, I assumed an appropriately contrite expression. “I’m sorry,” I apologized, “may I go write a letter to Marcus to let him know about this? His family may no longer be able to accommodate another guest.”

“Go,” my mother snapped, giving me a look that made it clear that she didn’t have any feeling whatsoever that she or father would be to blame if my prediction came true. My heart was aglow and I hurried for a quill and parchment.

“Dear Marcus,” I wrote hurriedly, “My parents have informed me that I will, in fact, be permitted to spend the upcoming holiday in your company. I must say, I am rather bemused by this turn of events. My parents apparently had failed to realize that you are of the Black family as well as of the Relious family, but they are now better informed. Noting the letter that they appear to have received from the Blacks, I reflect with confidence that your hand is in this.

“Thank you. I am very happy that I will be able to visit and that, for once, we will be able to spend some time together without so many other concerns distracting us, weighing us down, preoccupying us.

“I unfortunately am at a loss for what else to say, save that I will see you shortly.”

Marcus’ surprise that things hadn’t changed, every time he asked if I’d heard from my parents again, told me all that I needed to know. He had done something to bring about this change of heart and I couldn’t help but reflect, as I attached my letter to the Prince family owl, a noble and refined member of its species, that I was the luckiest girl in the world. I had a man I cared for very much, and who cared for me. He was a good match, brave, trustworthy, handsome, intelligent, from a wealthy family, and my parents approved. I could have hoped for nothing more, and had expected far less.

I received a letter with surprising speed – perhaps not surprising, I reflected, considering that his family were staying in the city. “Dear Delia,” it read, “I am ever so delighted that your parents had a change of heart. As we are in London until the 26th, it would be a simple matter for us to meet. My parents were intending to take a shopping trip to Diagon Alley tomorrow; perhaps your family could meet us there? My parents, in case you were worried, are delighted that you will be joining us, and have assured me that they will do everything they can make sure you know you are welcome.

“As to any part I might have played in this decision, well, I cannot think of much I might have done. The only thing I have done recently is send a letter – as I do every year – to my grandfather, telling him how the fall semester at Hogwarts went. I did mention you, and that your parents perhaps had some reservations about me. Now that I think more on the subject, I did mention in a bit of detail the virtues of Candice, the American muggle-born girl who is the Hufflepuff Quidditch captain. Perhaps he read too deeply in to this and grew aghast at the notion of Black blood ending up couple with that of a muggle-born. I suppose if I was not so busy with finals I might have mentioned that Candice is dating a Gryffindor third year. Oh well, people really should be less concerned about breeding, you know.” He signed his name, and below that he had added. “P.S., Do you think me wicked?”

I laughed.

My parents were so relieved that my opportunity to impress the Black family hadn’t been lost that it didn’t occur to them to object to meeting Marcus and his parents at Diagon Alley. Instead, they fussed about the importance of making a good impression, and talked – always opaquely, of course – about how difficult it would be to do so without any money, and how they would have to lie about having a lot of shopping they intended to do and how they’d have to go to all the stores and say that “how sad, they couldn’t find a thing they were looking for!” As such, they proceeded to make up the most outlandish shopping list they could, all while my mother wondering which of her walking outfits had been least seen about town and my father hoping that lunch would be involved, grooms’ treat of course. This immediately sparked concern, for wasn’t it more typical for the lady’s family to pay? My parents couldn’t decide. With a sigh, I took most of the funds that Zonks had given me the previous weekend and held it out to my father.

“I quite forgot,” I said, assuming the air of silly negligence that I always did at these moments; it wasn’t the first time I had given my parents money, and I could never do so without the pleasant little lie. “I didn’t spend all of my allowance this semester.” And he took the galleons from me. They didn’t apologize for having to take from their daughter. They looked mortified. 

Still, I didn’t reckon on how much more than usual my business dealings had garnered. My father gasped and before he could stop himself – showing more emotion than I had seen in him since the first time I had done this – he exclaimed, “how did you get so much?”

My mother gave him a dirty look, and I shifted uncomfortable. “I…” I swallowed. “I don’t think you’d like me to explain that. I came by it honestly, I’ve done nothing to be ashamed of or that needs to be concealed, and that should be enough.”

“Yes,” my mother said coldly, though I wasn’t sure which of us that chill was directed towards, “you shouldn’t question your daughter about her allowance. You are such a generous father.” He nodded vaguely, looking at the handful – there were 12 galleons in total, enough to take a party of 6 out to dinner with plenty, enough for a small family to live on, cheaply, for about a month! – his face filled with wonder. I wondered when my father had last held that much money.

At least the exchange cut off all further talk of the following day, aided by Alasdair arriving. As he explained at length over the remainder of the evening, he was very important and couldn’t possibly be spared from the Ministry. Alas for rank and authority! He despaired of getting any free time for anything, he was so desperately needed! He asked me, right at the start, how my semester had been, and interrupted me after a single sentence, going on about how school was especially important in this current day, that his education was serving him very well at the Ministry. Indeed, that very day at the Ministry he’d been able to call in all his powers of arithmancy to resolve some very sticky points. Last week, he’d been able to resolve a confusion about some paperwork, would have messed up all kind of logistics. He didn’t appreciate when I pointed out that this had nothing to do with his education, but kept on regardless. Without hardly pausing for breath, Alasdair regaled us with his “adventures” at the Ministry – using the word Ministry almost every sentence – and how important and indispensible he was there. My parents sat through it all with stony silence, and I wondered what the subtext was. There was something here I wasn’t seeing. It surely had something to do with the war; I had never seen my parents so on-the-outs with my brother. Since listening to him was utterly dull, I used the time to try to puzzle out what was going on.

Last I knew, my parents had thought the war a muggle affair. However, in the time since the summer, more and more wizards had become involved. From my own experience I knew that wizards of the finest blood – the Patils, the Serences, the Malfoys, the Blacks – had been called in to work in support of the war or on the front lines. The Daily Prophet had run accounts of some of the WAP missions, and had been filled with articles of other wizards who had distinguished themselves on the front lines. A daily feature near the back listed the war dead, and there was at least one name every day. If most of those were Continent wizards who had gotten caught up in things, more than one English wizard had died, too, and a few had done so with glory. This had been bringing certain names to fame and to fortune in a way that a Ministry job never could have. Furthermore, Alasdair had yet to marry, didn’t have a place of his own, and had worked at the Ministry for almost 2 years without a promotion. What better time for him to further a political career and to make an excuse for the lack of spouse, than to distinguish himself in battle! And here was Alasdair, babbling on about how necessary he was at the Ministry…yes, it made too much sense. Time to test my hypothesis.

“Oh!” I interrupted Alasdair mid-story, “speaking of the war, I wanted to speak with you briefly, mother, in regards to the Girl’s Auxiliary Brigade.”

“Indeed?” she didn’t sound happy, though she looked slightly relieved to have something else to talk about.

“Yes. I wanted to reassure you that it won’t do anything to bring shame to the family. Consider how much attention, positive attention, has been drawn to the boys in the Wizard Armed Patrol. As an extension of that, the Girl’s Auxiliary will show that wizard women are as brave as wizard men, and that we can do our part as well!”

“When you put it that way,” my father said thoughtfully, “then perhaps it is a good thing. This Relious fellow we’re to meet, he’s in that WAP thing, isn’t he?”

“Oh yes, he’s been on multiple missions to the Continent already. They’ve assaulted castles!” I eyed my brother and my parents while I made this pronouncement, and saw enough to convince myself my theory was correct. Alasdair’s face turned the most peculiar shade of pale and colorless and he dropped his coffee cup. Meanwhile, my mother turned all the force of her good breeding in to an icy stare that spoke volumes that she would never say aloud. I wondered if, perhaps, my generally positive reception thus far was because of how out of favor Alasdair was!

Conversation continued in similar veins until the hour grew late, and I went up to my room, excited and pleased and looking forward to the next day. As much as anything, I was happy that Alasdair’s disfavor reflected so well on me, and that my own accomplishments seemed finally to be impressing my parents. I went to bed with my thoughts full of joy. Not only would I be seeing Marcus, not only did my parents approve, but I was finally becoming the daughter my parents had always wished me to be, even if I never would be in Slytherin.

The following morning, I hastily packed, my parents made a great fuss, Alasdair decided – pleasantly – not to deign to accompany us on our errand though he had the day off because it was Christmas Eve, and soon enough we were making our way by carriage towards the Inn that marked the entrance to the alley.

Everyone was frightfully punctual, such that at the designated time both parties arrived at largely the same moment at the correct spot. Marcus politely introduced his parents, and I introduced mine, and for a moment awkward silence reigned. This was broken, however, but the enthusiasm of both Marcus’ father and his step-mother, who gushed about how pleased they were to meet me (or, in his father’s case, to meet me again) and to meet my parents, and seeing as it was lunch time might we not all go out someplace? No surprises there.

I will not attempt to replicate the contents of the conversation that afternoon. Indeed, I scarcely remember them but that I found much of it embarrassing and upsetting. Much like Marcus’ himself, his parents were outgoing, cheerful, unreserved people. My parents, on the other hand, are the height of proper decorum. The result was something like mixing oil and water. I truly don’t think that any of the parties involved disliked the others, but my parents’ quiet made his parents’ concerned that they were making a bad impression, and his parents’ vivre caused my parents a high degree of discomfort, for they didn’t know how to respond to it. Marcus and I did our best to smooth things over. Strangely, it would be the only time our parents would ever met. 

After the meal, my parents left to shop the Alley, with mentions of all of the different ideas my mother had concocted the previous day of what purchases they intended to make, and we left, for they had already completed their shopping before lunch. Another carriage took us through the streets of the city, which were thronged with muggles completing last minute preparations for the holidays. The roads were so busy that we eventually gave up, deciding it would be faster to walk than to ride and made our way through the streets past all the smiling people, window shoppers, happy couples, all decked out in their winters’ finest to enjoy the Christmas cheer.

The house at which we arrived was on a smart little circle in a refined neighborhood. It was a townhouse, one in a line of identical homes which snuggled up close to each other. A fancy plaque on the row read “Grimmauld Place,” and the building in question was number 12. While many of the homes bore wreaths, garlands, and tinsel to mark the holiday, number 12 had nothing but a small red bow which someone had seen fit to tie on the knocker. We didn’t bother to knock, though, since Marcus was of the family and we were expected. His parents dropped us off; as neither of them were Blacks, they were spending the Christmas day with the Relious’ family instead.

As is so often the case with wizard homes, the building was noticeably larger on the inside than on the outside, and bore all the signs of being home to wizards of the very finest sort. The hallways were lined with portraits of stern old wizards and witches who primly watched anyone who went by; one staircase was adorned with the heads of former house elves, which I thought might perhaps be one of the most grotesque displays I had ever seen. Not a piece of furniture but was of the highest quality and richest make, and the whole place reeked of money, austerity, and superiority. If it hadn’t been for a modest dose of Yuletide joy to modulate it, I think I would not have liked it. As it was, Grandfather Black, for all his pride, seemed to like Christmas, and so a tree had been set up and the banisters had been – tastefully – ringed with evergreen, and the whole home was warmly lit. 

A rather large number of people inhabited the residence. Children scampered about playfully as if they had no sense of the oppressive air surrounding it, and the adults, though they frowned, didn’t make any effort to stop it. Grandmother Black had died some years previously, but Grandfather Black’s brother, Great Uncle Sirius and sister, Great Aunt Elladora, were both present. Neither had married. Grandfather and Grandmother had been prolific enough to make up for this; they had 6 children, four sons, two daughters, and all but one married. Marcus’ mother had died, but all the rest were here. The one unmarried was the our headmaster, Phineas Nigellus. The others had all brought their children, with the result that Blacks and Burkes – the daughters’ married name – surrounded me on every side. The family tradition of giving children the same names rendered all utterly confusing. I was soon overwhelmed by Sirius’, Phineas’, Cygnus’, Regulus’, and Arcturus’ and I wondered if I had not perhaps been sent out in to space to play among the stars. It was only good breeding that kept me from embarrassment.

Marcus, perhaps sensing that I was nonplussed by this rather large number of people, took me on a tour of the house. Afterwards, we rejoined the family, and I avoided the majority of them by speaking with the Headmaster about potions. I had never seen him outside of school before, and while I was very fond of him normally, outside of Hogwarts he was so much more open and congenial that I liked him even more. When he didn’t have to constantly assert his authority, he was more relaxed. We talked of work entirely, and I was left with the sad feeling that whoever had chosen Phineas Nigellus as headmaster of Hogwarts had done every involved party a terrible disservice. The Headmaster would have preferred to work, and the students certainly didn’t appreciate him. Oh, I despaired to think how many potions his great brain might have uncovered and brewed had he not had to worry about administration!

Eventually I had to mingle with the others. It was an awkward situation. While Grandfather Black had been very fond of Marcus’ mother, his youngest child, some of the others clearly thought that Marcus’ family had no place here now that she had died and considered the Relious family as my parents had, as blood traitors. Most had the good taste not to show this disapproval openly, or at least the intelligence not to let it be seen by Grandfather Black, but that didn’t change that there were still many little ways in which it came out. Marcus was oblivious to all, though, and spent most of his time with the children. Due to random chance, not a one of them was of an age where they were at school with us – they were all either younger by a few years or older by a few years. I did my best to make the rounds among the adults, and therefore spent the majority of the day being sized up. No matter how they felt, Grandfather Black said that Marcus was a Black, which meant that his spouse would also be a Black. Every single one wanted to be sure that I was worthy of the Black name. They asked me about my parentage. They asked me about my knowledge of spells and magic. They inquired heavily in to my breeding – though usually subtly by asking testing questions like, “isn’t the Prince family related to the Yaxleys?” and expecting me to be able to unhesitatingly state the degree of relationship accurately. I rose to every challenge as best I could and by the end of the day I was thoroughly exhausted, rather annoyed with almost everyone present, and glad that I had three people who I could talk to. The Grandfather took to approving of me vocally. This, I must say, was an infinite relief. I had been concerned that my parents oversight would convince the old man that I was not worthy of his name or his grandson, but that did not seem to be the case. In fact, apparently I was far superior to my parents in every conceivable way. I didn’t argue.

Christmas day was, thankfully, far more pleasant. Everyone was more relaxed and the delight of the children at their presents was contagious. I think, perhaps, the eggnog helped as well. Whatever the cause, I had a genuinely good time. Best of all, in all of the hubbub of activity, Marcus and I were able to steal some unchaperoned time, during which we talked and, in a fit of naughtiness, carved our initials into a banister on the topmost staircase landing, covering our crime with a wreath. I also spent more time with the Headmaster, and had one very challenging – for I had to be on my best behavior! – conversation with Grandfather Black which implied that he would approve the match if his permission was asked. That was a relief. The Headmaster, I thought, was also spending a great deal of time watching us, as if he had never before noticed that Marcus and I were close enough that I might be invited to Christmas dinner, and wondering what it might signify. His questions indicated his concern, and I’ll admit to being flattered.

In the end, all I can say is that the Blacks reminded me of the Princes, which meant that I liked them well enough when they were not being stuck up, and the rest of the time I smiled and nodded as if I agreed and looked forward to the conversation changing to a more genial topic. My parents had not brought up anti-muggle topics when I had seen them two nights previous and I noticed now that I found it even more irksome than I had in the past. Perhaps Marcus’ tolerance was growing on me? Or the insight that the war had given me on the close relation between muggle affairs and wizard affairs had increased my sympathy? Whatever it was, I once or twice found myself attempting to change the topic, in the most vociferously offensive instances, as subtly and flatteringly to the speaker as I could. No one seemed to notice, thankfully, except – I think – Marcus.

On the 26th, Marcus’ parents came in a very fine carriage and we said our goodbyes to the Black family. Grandfather Black suggested strongly that I should be brought again, and the Headmaster expressed his pleasure that Marcus had brought me, and I was pleased over all. Not all of the family had taken a liking to me; indeed, some had very obviously taken an intense disliking to me immediately when they discovered that I was there with their muggle-loving, blood-traitor relation, but the two who mattered most approved. That was all that signified.

Up to now Marcus’ parents had seen little of me, but the journey to the estate at Whitebrook was long and cold, and given the lack of snow most of the country on the way was distinctly ugly. Thus, there was little to do but to distract ourselves from the unpleasantness of the journey by intense and animated conversation. After the maneuvering of the last day, it took me quite some time to get in to the spirit of such talk. It’s not natural to my character, and I think that at first Mr. and Mrs. Relious found me frighteningly akin to my parents in terms of my reserve and restraint. However, Marcus went out of his way to draw me out – I think he feared his parents would not like me – and the two of them were such friendly, honest, forthright people that I soon found myself communicating more openly. There were, of course, many things one does not say to the parents of a suitor no matter how much openness there is, but within those boundaries were many acceptable topics, and we chatted pleasantly, about Christmas and travel and family, about the country, history and magic and all manner of topics. In a long trip, conversation will meander in a unique fashion, I learned.

There was something in their behavior that at first I could not place. We were seated facing each other, me next to Marcus and his parents together, and it took me sometime to realize that when I was speaking, they were watching Marcus, and when he spoke, they were watching me. In their subtle way, they were seeking to get an impression of how things stood between us. This, I feared, was doomed to failure. We were both so generally reserved in regards to our affection that I feared that they would conclude that we felt little. On the other hand, it felt utterly inappropriate, horrifyingly so, that I might “play up” my regard. 

My concern might have grown to a frightening proportion if not for our arrival at our destination. Far from the hustle and bustle of the city, Whitebrook was nestled amongst forested hills much distant from London. My knowledge of geography was scanty, but I found it unlikely that any normal horse and carriage could have made the journey in two days, much less in 6 hours, but I did not ask. The building was a strange amalgam of styles; turrets and buttresses indicative of time spent in a former incarnation as a castle incongruously peaking from the slated roof and neat manor house. Built in a modern, Victorian style, the building sprawled. Even from a distance, it felt warm and cheery, and, for the first time, there were hints of snow around. It was colder here than in the city, and I wished I could get closer to Marcus for warmth. 

Mr. Relious and his wife emerged from the carriage with relief; he immediately pulled a pipe out of his pocket and lit it as if going without it for so long had been tortuous. Mrs. Relious, meanwhile, looked towards the house as if expecting something, and her gaze was rewarded when two young girls came bursting through the door – a demure governess trailing behind them bearing a bundle, surely Marcus’ 1 year old sister, Victoria – and all latched on to their mother at once. Various cries – “what took you so long?” and “we got back ages ago!” the only audible ones – filled the air as the girls chattered excitedly at their mother. 

Marcus stepped out of the carriage after his parents and held out a hand for me. His chivalry was not to be, though, as the girls noticed him and started to talk even more loudly and tackled – the only possible word – their brother. I was left to the difficult task of emerging on my own (woe!) and smiling. Marcus was an adorable older brother; he ruffled hair, spread compliments, and asked and answered questions, somehow all at once. I had virtually no experience with children and I could only marvel at his dexterity. The girls couldn’t seem to get enough of it; they didn’t notice me at all.

Whitebrook seemed enormous from up close, and it was decorated all over for Christmas. Fairies floated all about, tossing glitter negligently, and everywhere the glitter fell sparkled as if it had snowed. I wondered if the glitter might have any uses in potions and surreptitiously gathered some. Garlands of mistletoe with bright berries, hung all about, and pine branches with cones, and decorated Christmas trees were strewn about on the lawns. No one seemed to care that Christmas had past, and somehow that seemed only right. 

During these reflections, I suddenly noticed that the girls were no longer making noise. They – and Marcus, and his parents – were all watching me, watching the house. “Oh!” I exclaimed, blushing, “it’s charming! Delightful! I’ve never seen the like.”

“Who’s she?” asked the youngest girl. 

“She’s a friend of your brothers,” Mrs. Relious.

Marcus, rising to the invitation to introduce me, said, “Delia, these are my sisters, Emily,” the eldest, who was, I thought, perhaps 12, “Christine,” the middle child, 8 or 9, “and my sister Victoria is with Ms. Littledon.” He turned to the girls, who were waiting as patiently as excited girls that age could, and continued, “this is Delia Prince, a classmate of mine at Hogwarts, who has accepted my invitation to join us.”

“Delia!” exclaimed Christine delightedly.

“Ms. Prince,” corrected her older sister, with a look that made it clear that SHE was old enough to know her manners; the look was ruined by her giggles. The younger, meanwhile, didn’t care, and I soon found myself bemusedly being hugged and fussed over by the girls as their brother had been. I, unlike him, had no clue what to do, so I answered what questions I caught, and laughed, and tried not to make an utter fool of myself. I thought, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Marcus’ parents smiling, but I couldn’t be sure, since the two girls were as distracting as could be.

“It’s freezing out here,” Mrs. Relious suggested, “we should go in and say hello!”

The girls pulled me along eagerly; Emily asking her mother if I could stay in her bedroom, and then Christine said it should be her, and they proceeded to argue as their mother smiled indulgently and went inside. Marcus and his father trailed behind. The girls asked what I thought, and I had no idea what the question was nor how I should answer.

I was hit by a burst of warmth and noise as I came in. The manor was as full of people as the house in Grimmauld Place had been, but the atmosphere was so much more pleasant that no other comparison could be fairly made. The halls were decked out for the holidays, cheerful portraits smiled and waved and swayed as if they’d drunk too much eggnog, calls of merry Christmas came from every direction. Soon people were being introduced to me, shaking my hands and saying I was delightful, while Emily and Christine stood with me as if guarding me and marking me as theirs. Marcus disappeared amongst the family and I was left to try and keep track of who I’d met and what their relationship to him was. When I was free, the girls bombarded me with questions. What was Hogwarts like? What house was I in? Was I going to marry Marcus? Where did I get that purple ribbon? Did I keep a diary? What was my family like? What did I think of Whitebrook? Would I please, pretty please, stay in Christine’s room? Emily’s room? They also gave the kind of running commentary on their family that only little girls can be indulged in, and I blushed and was shocked that no one seemed to take any offense and, indeed, some of the comments were met by laughter and dismissal by the offended – or, indeed, not at all offended – party. I’d never seen anything like it. 

A house elf, as round as he was tall, came up to me with a tray of sweets and insisted that I take some; when I took only one, Mrs. Relious appeared from the gathering and scooped a few more on to my hands. “A girl your age? You are far too thin! Here, try these, they’re delicious!” And then she was off again, socializing and smiling and laughing; I was so startled that Emily stole from my hand whatever it was that was so delicious. It was for the better; if I ate that many sweets I’d never want dinner; I wondered how Mrs. Relious, who was only a little on the plump side herself, could ever endorse it. I wasn’t so terribly thin, at that. I eyed my reflection in the mirror, only to notice that Christine had decided to play in my bustle.

If not for the previous days at Grimmauld Place, I think I would have found it rather overwhelming. But everyone was so nice and welcoming and solicitous that I found it hard to be put off. I listened to family anecdotes, answered questions about myself, got asked repeatedly – by those without Emily and Christine’s excuse of youth! – if I was marrying Marcus, and seemed to meet with approval by most of the family. The general opinion seemed to be that I was a little on the dull side, and it was the first place I had ever been where my manners counted against me, for they all seemed to feel that I was no fun. I was amused to note that whenever this got mentioned in my hearing, the girls would stoutly defend me. 

My favorite of his relatives, other than the girls, was his Uncle Greyweather, who would regale anyone who would listen with tales about his world travels. At first, I thought it was nonsense, but when he saw my skepticism, he started producing souvenirs from these adventures, including a dragon’s tooth and a cockatrice wing. I took him more seriously after that – I knew enough to know they were genuine, and they were never the sorts of body parts that beasts would have parted with willingly. One particularly interesting tale involved him and a group of good-willed fellows in a run in with a fellow named Nox, over a coven of Werewolves.

The first day was a swirl of talk. As the holiday passed things calmed down. Family from afar began to leave, and the days grew quiet, though there were dinner parties every night. Marcus’ father, who worked at the Ministry, turned out to be the head of the Ministry’s Magical Education department, so a range of Hogwarts governors, ministry officials, and the Headmaster were there one night; another, the entire party, other than the family, seemed to be composed of half-blood and muggle-born wizards and witches and full-bloods who I knew to a one to be considered blood traitors. I’d never gotten to associate with such people before, and I was both surprised and not at all startled to find that they were much like everyone else. 

Marcus’ sisters, who failed to secure their mother’s permission for my residence in either bedroom, followed me around the house like my shadow unless something more interesting came along, which didn’t seem to happen often. They asked questions that I’d never expect, and seemed to think I was something very interesting. I would have thought it was my age, but for the fact that there were children of all ages amongst those who came and went; with so many friends and relations the girls must have more exposure to teenagers than that! Still, they weren’t the only ones open about their approval of me. Mrs. Relious, always flouncing around and entertaining, always pink cheeked and smiling, was constantly trying to feed me, sending the house elf, Gregory, ‘round my way with trays of the tastiest morsels available, and I did my best to please but I could only eat so much. Mr. Relious, in the meantime, asked me serious questions and listen attentively to my opinions, and met me in equal terms in a way that few adult men of his position would ever have listened to a 16 year old girl. Hardly anyone mentioned my upbringing. Those who did seemed to think it counted against me. I decided that I’d rather come from a family like mine than be trapped between a family like this one and the Blacks, as Marcus was. I’d rather have a family like this than any of the other choices.

The opportunity to see Marcus in his native element was the most precious part. It wasn’t as easy to get time with him as I had hoped, for the house was busy and the girls were tenacious, but we were able to spend more time together than we had before. Indeed, after the first few days, as Mrs. Relious warmed to me, I noticed that the girls would get called away often, and only ever when there was no other task for Marcus or myself to be doing, and that at those times we’d suddenly find that there were no other adults around either. On one amusing time, Mr. Relious came in acting perfectly normal and prepared to settle down in a nearby sitting chair, then realized that we’d been alone before and hastily realized he’d forgotten something and had to go. It was nice to know that they thought well enough of me to go to the effort.

Marcus, as always, was charming, intelligent, and dashing. More so than usual, perhaps, when I could see him when there were no responsibilities or worries tying him down. We walked the grounds – which were stunning, for it snowed the day after I arrived – and explored. He tried to teach me to ride a horse, but he forgot that it’s different for a girl in skirts than for a man, and the effort ended with me getting tossed in to the snow and him apologizing for it for the rest of the evening even though I insisted it had been no big deal. We toured every corner of the house, trolled for unknown corners and hidden holes in the highest towers and the deepest basements, and came back dusty and laughing over the “treasures” we had found, old bottles and buttons and little bits of nothing. And we talked, of everything, of nothing, making hour long conversations out of what others could have passed over in a moment. By the end of the week, I was certain I was in love.

All too soon, the holiday was done. No amount of importuning by Emily and Christine could slow the time, and when the day came, though they begged, pleaded, and cried, Marcus and I had to go to the station to return to school. His parents packed the empty space in our trunks with leftover food, the girls cried that we’d best return very soon indeed, and we took flue powder directly to the fireplace used for this purpose on the platform, to assume the responsibilities of school once again. I resented our necessitated return to your studies and wished bitterly I didn’t have to go back. I wonder if I’d have felt differently if I’d known just how soon everything was to change forever.


	12. The Potion of Unlife

School was as it is always was when we returned. Over the holiday a lovely layer of snow had fallen, and now it glistened to perfection. Over the first weekend, when we had a day before classes began, students staged vast snowball battles – undeterred by the actual battles taking place – and nearly everyone was in good spirits. I was, personally, a little unhappy. I’d not ended up working on potions at all over the holiday and my stocks were dangerously depleted, so I spent the weekend brewing whenever I wasn’t busy with some duty, rebuilding my stocks. Meanwhile, whenever I could spare a few minutes, I worked on the potion for Celestine, which I’d sadly neglected more than most things due to being busy before the holiday as well.

I was spurred on by Lycia, who came and found Celestine and myself on the very first evening back. “This is very interesting,” she said in her direct fashion as she handed the necklace back to Celestine. She’d had it over almost 2 months at this point.

“What does it do?” asked Celestine breathlessly.

“Control. It receives a signal – magical, or electrical in the muggle fashion – and by doing so it controls the wearer. It’d only work on a wild beast, and it sends impulses that prevent the wearer from attacking, directs their motion, that sort of thing. It’s used for training dogs or lions or chimera or dragons, I imagine?” she concluded curiously, clearly wondering where we’d come across it.

I wasn’t sure what electrical meant or what impulses might be, but the rest had been very clear. “So who ever sent the signal would have complete control over the wearer?”

“Yes, I suppose. I won’t do for small things. It couldn’t be used on a human to make them do any fine work, though it might work for big things. For wild beasts, I’m certain,” she said.

Celestine and I thanked her without satisfying her further curiosity, and promised her that she could keep the necklace once we were finished with it by way of a reward. Then, we had a hushed, hurried conversation on our own. It made perfect sense; the necklace used this electrical thing and magic to control the children when they become werewolves. With this, the lycanthropes they create could be used as an army! 

Needless to say, this discovery spurred me to want to find some way of getting rid of lycanthropy. How could one ever face an army of werewolves? Fast, tough, bloodthirsty, and completely inhuman, they were undefeatable. That they were humans, and that they were made into monsters against their will, only made the whole thing more horrible. Yet experimenting takes time, and I had little hope of a breakthrough.

The students from Durmstrang were still here, utterly beyond explanation. Once again, while rumors flew, no one knew why they remained and no one seemed to give it much thought beyond gossip. The general consensus was that either Pellucid Nox was courting some woman, or that the lot of them were trying to avoid the war – and who could blame them for wanting to do that?

On the first Monday of classes, GAB met for the first time. It was me, Katrina, the Lunaris, and Professor Patronius, who led us. He gave a long talk on what our duties would be, and we asked questions, and when it was done we did some training. I would describe it more fully, but in truth it wasn’t terribly interesting. We were to nebulously “support” WAP, which sounded like we would cheer them on from the background, and we were to act as a school defense force if the need arose. We were to receive training in first aid and learn to apparate so that we could help with evacuating people and similar such things. We were fully acquainted with the school grounds – even places that had previously been forbidden to us – and given details of the teachers’ strategies related to the defense of the building, developed in case of an emergency. While of course there was the chance the school would be attacked again, what we were doing was not the grand adventure that the WAP boys were having on the continent. The other three complained bitterly after the lesson was over, though I was relieved as much because I didn’t have the time to be adventurous than for any other reason. 

As classes began, the monotonous rhythm of life at Hogwarts resumed. Days passed steadily to weeks and the weather grew colder as January proceeded. Word of the war grew worse as the fighting didn’t lapse in the winter, and over the long nights of the season the casualty list of wizards grew longer. I learned to apparate and do first aid at GAB lessons and picked up some interesting offensive spells, but there was no talk of us taking missions. I resumed Quidditch practice, and the team’s first match was in February. Marcus was busy with WAP and seemed to be out of the castle as often as in. Tales of their missions circulated wildly through the student body. Steadily, a feeling of tension grew. There was a storm coming. We could all feel it. We didn’t know what it was, or when it would hit, or what the results would be, but the ominous feeling, the heavy air, had everyone on edge. I did my duties and tried to do the other things I’d promised and maintain my class grades, and all the while I noticed that I was starting to look over my shoulder. Something was building; something was coming.

In mid-January, Marcus told me that the WAP boys had found out what the mirror did, altering the reflection of the moon in fundamental ways. It could, for example, turn back the tides. WAP had also discovered, by accident, that it could turn back werewolves just as effectively. It saved the boy’s lives not two days before he told me, for Guillermo had been carrying the mirror at Professor Patronius’ instruction when they were attacked and the wolves were driven back by it. The professor seemed more relieved than surprised, according to Marcus, so he must have at least thought it was possible. No wonder Pellucid Nox had wanted it! Something that could stop the werewolf army he was apparently constructing would be an unbelievable boon.

Meanwhile, around this time, Nox finally announced his intention of leaving and named the day – the following Saturday. We were all relieved, and some people commented that the air seemed less ominous, though I didn’t notice anything of the kind. It was all nonsense, I told myself, just the cold in the castle and the bleakness of winter and the bad news from the war making us jumpy and uneasy. Even so, I knew I’d feel better when Saturday passed.

The day was to be given over to a grand celebration in the Great Hall. There were to be games and talking, and then we’d escort our guests to their ship, which was moored in the lake and was how they had arrived, and see them off with all cheer and speed. Especially, I thought, all speed. The Hall was made up festively, if not so grandly as for Christmas, and a wonderful breakfast was served. Marcus and I had been instructed to keep an eye on things, but for once we had no other specific duties, and so early on we met up, and set to talking with a will. We’d hardly had any time together since Christmas, and now everything came spilling out.

We talked about Auror Weasley, and the werewolf situation, about GAB training and WAP missions, and about the war. When we got tired of talking about bad news, we turned to more cheerful things, the semester to come, Quidditch, how nice Christmas was. I told him about the gracious letters that his parents had sent in reply to my thanks, and the surprisingly warm letter I had gotten from my parents about Marcus and his family. He, meanwhile, told me about the letters his sisters had sent in which they begged him to marry me. This caused me to blush rather a lot. 

As always seems to be the way of gatherings at Hogwarts, within a few hours most of the students, including the guests’ of honor and our departing Durmstrangs, had disappeared. Marcus and I had a talk about whether we should do something about it. I thought, rather resignedly, that we should, but Marcus would hear nothing of it.

“I’ve finally got you all to myself for the first time in ages. No one has come to ask our help. I’m sure they will be fine on their own. I had to leave at the Ball, and nothing but wild horses will drag me away now,” he said obstinately, and I flushed with pleasure and readily acceded. I wished there was dancing here, but sadly it was a daytime affair. Only concern drew me away, as I noticed Fred lingering by herself, looking sad.

“How do you know if you’re in love?” she asked me in a depressed tone of voice.

I blinked. Considering that I was quite certain I was in love, I felt I should have an answer, yet I found myself at a complete loss. “Well,” I said slowly, buying myself a moment to think of an answer, “you think about the person a great deal. And just hearing their name can make you happy, and seeing them makes any day better. If they smile at you, or laugh, their happiness is contagious, and you start to find you want to do anything you can to make them happy. You find that you compare others to them by thinking that this other person may be fine, but not nearly so fine as the one that you love. When you try to think of what you wouldn’t do for them, there is nothing, nothing at all, you’d go through any hardship, endure any pain; you’d die for them.” I stopped, blushing furiously, before I said more. All I had to do is to think about Marcus, and I could have kept going I’m sure.

“You’re in love with Marcus, aren’t you.” She said morosely. I’d never seen Fred so out of sorts.

“What’s the matter?” I asked, pretending I hadn’t heard what she’d said even though it had been perfectly audible – indeed, several people nearby seemed to have heard as well.

“Well…” she looked around, and said quietly and very sadly, “I’m in love with someone, at least I think I am, and I thought he was in love with me, but now…” she looked, of all places, at the staff table, very quickly, and then looked back – not at me, but rather at the floor. “How can I make a man love me? Could you…” she swallowed. “Could you sell me a potion?” she blurted.

“No,” I said without hesitation.

“But…”

“No,” I repeated. “I’d only do that to someone I didn’t care for as much as I do for you. It’s not real love that you get that way, and if the man ever found out than he’d never consider you again – no one likes to be forced to love another. That’s not what you want, right?”

“Of course you’re right,” she sighed. “I didn’t mean it, I suppose. I hadn’t thought of it before, and I thought maybe…” Her eyes flickered to the staff table again. I peered, sideways, over there myself. There were a few students in that area, and Professor Tremens, and Professor Singh. None of the other professors were in the room. And suddenly, I had a faint flickering of memory, of Fred and Professor Singh dancing at the ball in the fall. He was dashing and young, but still – surely it was one of the students? But no, none of them was even an option, they were all hulking brutes in that direction or were girls. I couldn’t see her falling for a man like that.

I tried to figure out what on earth to say. “I’m sure things will come out alright in the end,” I managed lamely. She nodded, and went back to sitting quietly, and I escaped so that I wouldn’t have to come up with anything else to say. Suddenly, the whole thing was too awkward for words. I hoped Fred would be alright, but I couldn’t imagine how falling in love with a teacher – and her only 15! – could work out well.

Marcus came over and joined me as soon as he saw I was alone. “How’s Fred?” he asked.

“She’s very sad,” I said, “she’s in love with someone who doesn’t love her.”

“That’s terrible! Where is this fool?” Marcus looked around. “We should talk some sense in to him; imagine not loving Fred, she’s such a wonderful girl.”

“Indeed, she didn’t say who it was.”

Marcus continued looking around, but then shook his head. “No, I suppose she wouldn’t. And it would be wrong of me to interfere besides. Still, I hope that she’ll cheer up. It’s not right for her to be so sad.” I nodded absently. Looking at him, I had something else on my mind. I’d never clearly thought about love and all that before. Oh, I knew I was in love, but I hadn’t really thought about what it meant. The things I’d said to Fred were all true, all of that and more, and now I found myself thinking what would I do, how far would I go for Marcus? My rambling thoughts had yet to find a limit. I was rather shocked by all the things that leapt to mind that I would in fact stoop to in order to protect him. Silly stuff.

“Are you alright?” he asked in concern.

“Oh,” I started. “What were you saying?”

“Just that the caramel apples are really very good, and you should have one if you’d like. And how damnable it is that the Durmstrangs couldn’t have bothered to stay. Surely whatever mischief they wanted to do before they left could have been completed yesterday?”

“Yes, well, that wouldn’t have been nearly as much fun as deserting their own party, now would it?”

“True, it’s so much wiser to stage plots when everyone will notice that there is a plot going on.” He managed to say this without a trace of irony.

My mind was still racing. I would die for Marcus. I had said that, and I had meant it. I was struck by the depth of this realization. I would endure any shame for Marcus. I would stoop to anything to spare him having to stoop at all. A wonderful Christmas holiday, enjoying his company, wanting to be with him, none of that, I suddenly realized, was love. Oh, it was, but it wasn’t everything. I had never imagined dying for anyone before. And now I realized that not only would I do it, I’d do it happily. I had just come to understand what love truly was. An easy mistake to make, for one who had not been in love before. It struck me now, out of the blue, in full force, how profoundly I felt. I swayed slightly, dazed.

Marcus put a hand on my back. This didn’t help my perturbation at all.

“Delia?” he was alarmed.

“I should, perhaps, sit down,” he helped me to a chair, and I took a few steadying breaths. “I think…” I had to say something to get him to stop looking at me with that intent, worried expression. “I think perhaps the house elf who helped me this morning tied my corset too tight.”

“Do you wear all of that, then?” he asked, diverted for the moment, sounding intrigued.

I frowned. “Well, a woman must be fashionable, and there are rather a lot of things that we wear, yes, especially when there is a party to attend.”

“You know, I’ve never seen a corset before, though of course I’ve heard about them. They sound simply awful! Is it terribly uncomfortable?”

I blushed. “Well…” How does one answer that question? Yes, of course, but it wasn’t really something that was said. 

“Does it really have all those laces? The girls get house elves to help them with such things?” How could the man be so intrigued? I blushed redder, and didn’t answer. “How does one take one OFF, then?”

That was it! “Marcus,” I exclaimed, jumping to my feet, “am I to understand that you are making intimate inquiries in regards to my undergarments?”

Marcus also jumped up, and his face went bright red. “No…I mean, well, yes, I suppose I was, but…”

“Oh!” I huffed. “That is the limit!” And I stormed off, realizing with a flush of shame that I had spoken loudly enough that everyone who had been near us had heard. A buzz of conversation followed me as I left the Great Hall, looking for a place to cool my head.

The halls were surprisingly filled with people, and I had no desire to be social – somehow, I couldn’t escape the feeling that everyone would know about the incredibly embarrassing slip I had just made. If only he hadn’t kept pressing me! If only I hadn’t realized the depth, the strength of my feelings! If only it didn’t bother me, in the secret recesses of my mind – or was it my heart? –that Marcus know all about my undergarments! Alas, all of these things were true, and his timing had been terrible. With a sigh, I went to my dormitory and put on my winter cloak, muff, and scarf. If I could find no peace in the castle, I would find comfort in the brisk chill of the frigid January weather.

The cold was crystalline, the air was so calm that it seemed as if noise would shatter it. The snow was undisturbed, the lake still, and more than ever the sense of waiting filled the air. I ignored it; my head was racing. I tried to put things in order. I loved Marcus. This wasn’t a surprise. I knew it, even if I’d not previously understood fully the ramifications. Did Marcus love me? This thought caused concern. I knew he liked me very well; he wanted me at Christmas, he had called himself my suitor, he had forgiven me the crimes I had admitted to in December. He had never said he loved me, though – of course, I’d never said it either. What did he feel for me? The easiest way to find out would be to ask – but what a thing to ask! No, I could never do that. 

I began to feel bad for leaving as I had done. I had been able to escape from the whispers of our classmates; what was he doing? I hoped it wasn’t too mortifying. Right after realizing I’d do anything to spare him, the first thing I’d done was bring him embarrassment and then abandon him! I was off to a great start. And why was I still thinking about undergarments? I realized I had stopped walking, and my breath was steaming in the air. I was surprised it wasn’t my cheeks steaming, I was red hot as any fire. I didn’t know if he cared for me as I did for him, but I realized suddenly how brazenly I had been acting. We’d been holding hands and talking with our heads bowed close all day. I’d been able to feel his breath on my cheek. Indeed, though I don’t believe I’d ever done so before, I realized I had been flirting shamelessly the entire time. Thank God for the cold, it kept the heat in my cheeks from causing me to swoon with its intensity.

I’d been out for perhaps 15 minutes and was beginning to calm down when I noticed that there were other people about. They were far away, near the Greenhouses, but something didn’t seem right. Indeed, as I watched, it rapidly developed in to a commotion. Frowning, I reached in to my robe for a potion to arm myself and hurried in that direction, arrived in time to see them set the Greenhouse on fire!

Shocked, I rushed forward. Three Durmstrangs were there, the girl, the little beater and the seeker, and an equal number of Hogwarts students, facing off. The plants in the greenhouse seemed to be catching blaze quickly. “Stop!” I shouted. Everyone turned towards me. The Durmstrangs hurled spells.

I ducked the first volley as the Hogwarts students fired back. Spells came from behind me, too, though I didn’t see from where. I reached in to my cloak again and pulled out a freezing potion – it would, I thought, work to put the fire out. I threw it, but my aim was off, and instead it splashed on to the wall of the Greenhouse, coating the glass in ice so cold that the panes shattered. The fire blazed more brightly at the rush of air this caused, and I muttered something unladylike. 

I was reaching for another potion, this one to try and stop one of the Durmstrangs, who were running in my direction, when a flash of red hit me full in the face, the world spun into a wash of whiteness and nothing.

I was very cold. The air on my face felt as if it had frozen there; my cheeks felt like blocks of ice mounted on my face. I couldn’t feel my hands or my feet. Someone was saying my name. “I…” my mouth barely seemed to work, fighting against the cold that had stiffened my lips, “I’m alright,” I managed to say. My eyes slipped open.

I was lying on the ground, surrounded by people and snow. I was still outside the green houses, I realized. I tried to sit up, and would have failed if I hadn’t received help. It was Marcus. He looked as concerned as I’d ever seen him. “Are you sure you’re alright? Can you stand? What can I do? What did they do to you? We all saw you fall!”

I refrained from asking why everyone – and it did appear to be everyone - had suddenly decided to come to the greenhouses, and instead I tried to stand. “Your hands are like ice!” exclaimed Marcus, concern still writ large on his face, as he took my hand – my muff lay fallen by my side.

“Here,” Professor Tremens came in to my field of view. “Calefate!” She waved her wand, and warmth flooded my limbs. “Come on, then,” and she took my other arm, and between them she and Marcus pulled me up. She smiled at me. “You alright?” I nodded in a dazed fashion, and she went to help some of the others. There were other students lying in the snow.

“What happened?” I asked. Marcus hadn’t let me go, and I was glad for it; I wasn’t sure I could stand under my own power.

“The Durmstrangs came to the greenhouses to steal something. We don’t know what,” he gestured that way; smoke was still rising from the buildings, though the worst of it seemed to be out; all of greenhouse 3 had burned down, and a lot of greenhouse 1 and 2 as well. Only 4 was intact. “Reginald came to the Great Hall gasping, looking for help in stopping it, and so we all came, but we didn’t get here in time – you fell just as we were getting here.” He sounded faintly ill when he said that, but I was too dazed to think what that might mean.

“It was just a stunning spell,” I assured him, though I knew I sounded too weak to be very reassuring.

“Yes, but…”

“Everybody let’s get back inside,” roared Professor Tremens, taking the lead, and she bustled us back to the castle. Marcus didn’t pick up where he’d been interrupted; he just helped me along – he seemed to realize how badly I needed the support, and was polite enough to give the help without commenting on it – and together, along with all of the other students, we made our way back to the hall.

While we were going, we managed to cross paths with Reginald. “What happened?” I asked him. He jumped.

“The Durmstrangs have been all over the place today; me and the Lunaris have been following them, and James, too. Keeping an eye on them. We heard them talking about burning down the greenhouses, and so the others went to stop them, and I went to get help.” He stammered out this explanation, and I wondered at its gaping holes – what else had they overheard? Why had they followed the Durmstrangs in the first place? – but didn’t point them out.

“Did they say why?” asked Marcus. His concern, still present, was thinning; now he sounded angry.

“Something about bane. I didn’t really hear. Maybe…” he looked around, and snagged James’ arm, “did you hear why they did it?” he asked James.

James, whom I knew only vaguely, a Gryffindor and a member of WAP, shrugged. “Something about making sure we couldn’t get any. I didn’t have a clue what it meant.” He turned back in to the crowd, and Reginald, smiling apologetically, followed suit. Marcus mutter something darkly.

“Did we stop them?” I asked.

“Well, we can’t know that without knowing what they wanted, but I don’t think we did. They all got away, too.” He frowned, and paused, stopping abruptly and causing me to stumble in surprise. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’ll be fine soon enough,” I smiled as warmly as I could. “I appreciate your concern.” He looked skeptical, smiled hesitantly anyway, and stayed with me. That was all I wanted.

Professor Tremens took the lead and led us back to the Great Hall. There were no Durmstrangs in our number, and no departure to celebrate in light of their crimes. We took seats and murmurs among the students made it clear that everyone was uneasy about this. What did it mean? Where had they gone? Why attack the greenhouses? What else had they done? And, indeed, there were still some absences from amongst the students. Had they been in pursuit of other Durmstrangs? Nobody knew. 

Over the next few minutes, more students continued to stream in, until there weren’t any more missing faces. No, I realized with a very forboding feeling, there was still one – Galatea was nowhere to be seen. Confusion grew. Tales began to circulate. Marcus and I sat silently, straining our ears, trying to catch as much of the talk as we could, but it was too muddled and confused for us to make heads or tails of it. 

Headmaster Nigellus came in and silence fell immediately.

The Headmaster did not look well. His face was white as a sheet, and his clothes were rumpled. He moved slowly and a little unsteadily, and his eyes didn’t focus right. Still, his glare when he took in the students was as firm as ever. “Professor Tremens,” he said, “would you and Professor Lestrange please act to keep the Durmstrang ship from leaving? Apparate. Immediately.” There was no questioning that tone, and with only a quickly exchanged startled glance, the two teachers simultaneously reached for wands and disappeared. The Headmaster proceeded to the front of the room. “We will wait for them to return.” He took his seat, steepled his fingers beneath his chin, and waited.

There was dead silence for about 10 minutes. Then, with a pop, the two Professors returned. They both looked furious. “Yes?” asked the Headmaster, his voice sounding pensive.

“We stopped the ship,” snapped Lestrange, “but they’d all left already.”

“Yes,” echoed Professor Tremens miserably. “We arrived in time to see them apparate away. We tried to track where, but it was a wild goose chase.”

“Not unexpected,” commented the Headmaster. He then waited, patiently, for them to take their seats. When they had, he stood up slowly, swaying slightly. For the first time, I noticed that there was an unexpected face at the staff table: Professor Lindlethwaite, the ancient divination teacher. I couldn’t recall if I’d ever actually seen her before; she was unmistakable, her skin so wrinkled and thin that it looked transparent and her robes a startling shade of orange. The Headmaster glanced at her a moment before he started to speak. “I regret to inform you that I have died.”

The response that this statement elicited from the students was remarkable. Mostly it was violent and vehement denials – after all, people who were dead did not normally stand in front of the Great Hall and announce it, and no matter ill Headmaster Nigellus looked, there was no way he was a ghost. I felt a chill and a wash of sorrow. He wouldn’t lie. If he said he was dead, then he was, and I suspected he was about to explain what had befallen him. Marcus put a supportive hand on my side. “Silence!” roared the Headmaster, and the exclamations stopped. “Approximately 20 minutes ago, on the way to the astronomy tower, I was waylaid by Pellucid Nox. Death was virtually instantaneous, thanks to the Avada Kedavra curse.” There were some mutters which cut off immediately, “It is only due to my own clever invention that I am here to make this announcement.” He looked smug. I started to cry. “I have 24 hours amongst you thanks to a potion I had the forethought to imbibe this morning. Much must be done before now and then. Professor Lindlethwaite, if you will?”

The Headmaster didn’t sit down, but the little professor did rise – she was so stooped with age that this didn’t increase her height – and come to the front of the staff table. “Ahem,” she cleared her throat reedily. “I have foreseen doom,” she said matter of factly, without any of the etherealness that so many diviners used and that her age might have suggested. “Doom for Hogwarts unless we act immediately.” She nodded assuredly. The Headmaster rolled his eyes, and I bit back a laugh through my tears.

“Yesterday, the WAP boys conducted a mission to the continent,” the Headmaster interrupted her. “And brought back documents suggesting that an attack on the school would take place imminently.” Gasps met this statement.

“Doom,” chimed in Professor Lindlethwaite.

“Yes,” grunted the Headmaster, “and Professor Lindlethwaite’s visions seem to indicate that it will be tonight.”

“There is not, unfortunately, any time to evacuate the school by conventional means.” Outcries erupted – we can’t stay here! We can weather an attack! – but Professor Lindlethwaite ignored them. “Yes, yes, it will all be fine, for I’ve foreseen that I will open a gateway and that the majority of the students will be able to escape that way. I’m not sure where the gateway goes, but I know it will be safe, and that you all will be able to return. Unfortunately, opening the gateway will cause my death.” Her matter-of-fact tone never wavered.

“It happens to the best of us,” commented the Headmaster. I choked on another laugh. How dare he make jokes about something so upsetting? Though, I supposed, it was his prerogative to do so if it was any ones.

“True, true,” replied the Professor speculatively. Even the other Professors looked utterly stunned at this point.

“The Professor will begin her preparations at once. The majority of the students will be evacuated, accompanied by Professor Lestrange and Professor Singh. The remaining professors and select students will stay behind to defend the school. I will not ask anyone to stay, and no student who cannot apparate will be permitted to do so. Furthermore, no student younger than 16 may stay. If you’d like to be part of the defense force, please speak with Professor Tremens and Professor Patronius. Our information indicates that the attack will be two pronged – a sky attack by zeppelins, and a ground attack by a large force of werewolves.” My breath caught. “Professor Tremens will organize the sky defense, and Patronius the ground. I will see to initiating the schools built-in defense systems, and will not be available throughout the attack as a result. Please note that it is likely that there will be casualties among those who stay. Do not do so unless you are prepared for the consequences. That is all.”

The hush that greeted the Headmasters words was absolute. Stunned expressions painted most faces, but mine was not that only one that showed resolve, either. Indeed, I could see the faces of who would defend the school by those that showed that determination. Guillermo Patil, and Lycia Gringott; Celestine, and Deletrious Grindlewald. Katrina, the Lunaris, James Ferguson, and the insipid little Alexis Crowley. A few others, fourth and fifth years I didn’t know, all of the school Prefects. Perhaps 15 students in all, no more than 20 I thought. And me. And Marcus. I stood up. “Prefects,” I said in a ringing voice, “gather your houses.” The Headmaster nodded and sat down. All around the room movement began, deliberately, purposefully, orders being called, commands given, people organizing. Most moved towards the door, to gather what belongings they could while Professor Lindelthwaite prepared this gateway. The resolved faces moved forward.

Marcus was at my side, and he took my hand now. “I think…” he met my eyes with sorrow. “I will join the sky group.” How brave he was, how dashing! “I have fought these zeppelins before, and it is where I can do the most good.”

“I will fight on the ground,” I said a little sadly, “because potions are of no use against zeppelins, but will be of great use against werewolves.” We exchanged sad smiles, and joined the short queues in front of our respective Professors. Soon enough, I was in the front; Lycia, Caius, Deletrious, Celestine and a few students I didn’t know spoke Professor Patronius; the rest had spoken to Professor Tremens.

He gathered us all up together. “None of you have to stay,” he said, “especially the girls. Are you certain?” None of us budged an inch. The professor nodded. “Very well. Get what you need in order. Dark falls in two hours. In 30 minutes, we will meet on the East turret over the door, facing the Forbidden Forest, and prepare our strategy. Bring your brooms.” That was it. He walked off purposefully. For a moment, the eight of us – I almost laughed hysterically, 8 students, 3 of them girls, to defend against an army of werewolves! – stood there, baffled as to what to do. The others started to move and I realized there was something I wanted to do – no, something I had to do. I turned towards the staff table where the Headmaster still sat and I walked to him with purpose. The initial shock of the attack had washed over me, and the grief at the death of this man who I looked up to, who I respected, who was my mentor, washed over me.

“Is it true?” I asked, and my voice sounded as miserable as I felt, for all that I tried to make it not seem so. “Are you really…”

The Headmaster smiled gently at me. “I’m afraid it is true, Ms. Prince,” he spoke gently, and it was that and his expression that convinced me more than his words. “If I had not thought such a thing might happen; if I had not drunk the draught of unlife this morning, I’d not be here to lead the school.”

“But when…”

“24 hours. It is enough time to do what needs to be done.”

I started to cry. His expression changed, until he appeared as if he wished to be comforting, but didn’t quite know how, and so he half smiled, half frowned, and some remaining part seemed baffled. “Really, Ms. Prince…” he grumbled. He reached out a comforting hand and patted my shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” I wiped my eyes. “Headmaster, may I say…that is…” I took a deep breath. I had to say it. I would never get another chance. “I heard from…from sources that I trust…that those monsters that attacked me, that attacked the students, in the fall, that you were behind their creation…” I didn’t ask, but I received the answer. His hand froze on my shoulder and his face twisted with grief and guilt. “I wanted to tell you that whether you did it or not, it never mattered. I’ve always believed in you, Headmaster. I’ve always known that you had the students’ best interest in heart even when you were being strict or brusque; I know that you’d never have done anything like…like…like…that, if you didn’t believe it to be necessary to protect the school. I can only speak for myself, but I wanted you to know that. I’ve always believed in you! You’re the best potions’ master I’ve ever seen, ever read of.” 

I won’t attempt to explain the expression that these words brought to his face. “I,” he shifted uncomfortably, but the look, the tenderness, didn’t fade, “you are a very fine student, I’ve never seen one with better potential. I wish you would not participate in the battle. You should flee with the others.”

“I can’t, sir,” I replied. There were tears in my eyes again. “You understand that, I’m sure.”

He sighed. “I do.” He moved his hand and I thought he was finished, but as a I began to turn, he said, “Ms. Prince…” I looked back again, and met his eyes. He looked tired, so very tired, and all of the bluster and energy that he had always shown was gone. “I’m sorry, Ms. Prince.”

I turned from him and left. I didn’t expect to ever see him again.


	13. Werewolves in the Night

Deletrious, Caius, Celestine, Lycia, and the three students I didn’t know turned in a group and headed immediately for the exit as I was leaving. I moved a bit more slowly than they, trailing behind, watching Professor Tremens talk animatedly to her group, watching Marcus’ eyes seem to wander in my direction. I would stay, of course. He would, too, WAP would be essential to the defense of the castle. We had to speak before I spoke to the professors, though. If I left now, I might never see him again. The idea was so horrible it left me feeling sick to my stomach; I pushed it away and tried to tell myself it was an absurd thing to be worried about, but even as I did that, in the background my thoughts continued darkly. Alone, at night, in the sky with bullets, zeppelins, muggles, and perhaps hostile spells – not to mention over-enthusiastic friendly spells! – so much could go wrong that it was chilling. Strangely, I had no thought for what might happen if I were to perish.

Finally, Professor Tremens gave the word, and the students with whom she spoke moved towards the doors with serious intensity – the Lunaris, Katrina, Guillermo and James, and all of the others went by me en masse. Professor Patronius and Professor Tremens now conferred quietly once more, and the Headmaster continued to watch everything silently. 

Marcus came over in a hurry, and said to me quickly, “there’s something I need to do. Can you wait outside for me?” I nodded, and headed out in to the hallway; Marcus followed me a few minutes later.

The passageway was completely deserted. I thought nothing of the time that had been passing; I knew what preparations I had to make, and they wouldn’t take me much time. Aside from that, I didn’t care if I was a few minutes late to the walls. These minutes with Marcus this was more important than the extra time spent in preparation for the attack.

“Delia,” he said gently as he came up to me. “I don’t suppose I can talk you out of participating in this? I don’t suppose I could convince you to flee?” I shook my head, and he looked unsurprised. In fact, his face looked calm and relieved, which seemed an inexplicable expression to me. I couldn’t imagine feeling anything other than wound up and worried, but I took some comfort in seeing that he didn’t seem nearly as concerned as I did. He said nothing more, instead we embraced tightly. We knew we had only a few minutes, and there was so much to say than could possibly be said that it wasn’t worth starting. Instead, I rested my head on his shoulder, enjoyed the feeling of his arms holding me closely, and tried to be happy in the moment. At some point, I started to cry.

“Marcus,” I finally said, softly, in to the ear that was right by my head, “I love you.”

His arms spasmed slightly around me, and then he was holding me more tightly, and the moment seemed to stretch out forever. He didn’t answer me with the same words, but he didn’t need to. I knew his feelings without them being said. The embrace had ended my doubts.

Too soon, we both realized at once that we had to stop, that we had to leave and go about all of our duties, and simultaneously we let the other go and stepped back. “I will see you tonight,” he spoke like it was a promise, and I nodded my wholehearted agreement violently enough that one of my tears splashed away.

We turned, for our directions now lay exactly opposite each other, but as I started to walk I knew I couldn’t go yet. I turned back around, and saw that Marcus had done the same, and without noticing the intervening distance, we were together again, and our lips met. I can only describe the kiss as one of the happiest moments of my life; I feel like to try to say more would be to profane one of my dearest memories. 

As modest first kisses are wont to be, it was quite brief, and then we were apart again. “I love you,” Marcus added earnestly. I smiled; he smiled, and again for a moment we both stood, savoring our last moment.

And then we turned and walked to our separate common rooms, without another word. I cried, silently, tears streaming down my face, the entire time. I never learned if he did the same.

It took little enough time to gather what I needed from my dormitory, even with the distraction of the tears. Indeed, I was glad to have a task that I needed to accomplish, and quickly, for it kept me distracted. I gathered up my potions, regretting now all the delays that had caused my supplies to diminish. I had only 2 shrinking potions left, and a scattered selection of other potions that I thought had a chance at utility. The one thing I did have, and I was glad of it, was a full 5 freezing potions. These, I hoped, would prove useful despite the fact that thus far they hadn’t protected me as I had expected. These brews I secured in my robes and hoped that I didn’t fall, for this would surely cause the flasks (designed to shatter when thrown) to break. It was a meager supply and I was exceedingly pleased that I had learned a handful of offensive spell in my brief time in GAB.

Beyond these items, there was little I could do. Almost everything I owned was in that dormitory room, but there was no way I could transport any of it. I hastily grabbed my ingredient supply, for it included some rare things, and slipped the reagent bottles in to the empty potion slots in my robes. I gave one last glance to my things and started to leave.

“Meow?”

With a muttered curse, I turned around. For all that I had grown very fond of Kate, it’d be easily forgiven that she has factored little in this narrative, yet at the time it was quite unforgivable, given my level of attachment, that I had completely forgotten her in my preparations for the battle. Now, she woke up and must have sensed something, and she was making her way towards me as adorable as could be. My heart nearly broke. There was no way I could take her with me; she’d not be safe in my robes, and she certainly couldn’t balance on my broomstick. I couldn’t leave her here, when I would probably not be returning soon. Picking her up, I realized what I must do.

I practically ran, Kate’s claws digging in to my hand in angry response to this abuse, making my way to where the students were assembling to be evacuated. One or two greeted me, wondering if something was wrong, or if I’d been sent to organize them, or to evacuate them, asking me ridiculous things related to bizarre suppositions of what was happening. I ignored them and looked for Fred. She stood near the front of the group, talking animatedly to Professor Singh in a way that left me feeling uncomfortable. I waited until she was finished; she noticed me and came over.

She started to speak, but I was already running so late that I couldn’t wait for her well intentioned questions. She already took care of Mr. Whiskers, Mr. Whiskers children (for it had turned out the rat was in fact female), and a miniaturized dragon; with this experience, I felt that she was the best choice for protecting my poor kitten. “Fred, can you do me a favor?” I asked.

“Anything!” she chirped.

“Do you think you could take care of Kate for me?”

She looked skeptical. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” she looked distressed. “I mean, Mr. Whiskers is a rat, and that’s kind of like a mouse, and cats…” she eyed the kitten and the bloody ruts that had been left in my hand. 

“Nothing will happen,” I said firmly, as if saying it with determination would make it true. “I’m sure they’ll get along splendidly.”

“I don’t know…” Fred said again.

I didn’t have time for this! Fred’s pets were huddled in a large cauldron she held. Figuring we could stop any violence if it began, I carefully set Kate down inside. Mr. Whiskers was fairly large, and Kate quite small, and the dragon eyed them both as they sniffed each other warily. The rat looked petrified, but Kate – bless her kitty soul – didn’t seem to realize as Mr. Whiskers did that they were mortal enemies, and after a moment she moved to nuzzle the rat, and though Mr. Whiskers was shaking to her toes, nothing bad happened. “See?” I snapped, distracted. “No problem.”

“Oh! Well, in that case, of course I’ll take Kate!” Fred smiled, and I smiled back, irritation fading. There must have been something on my face, though, for Fred added, “you’d better get going! Aren’t you late? Don’t worry about us, we’ll be fine! I wish we were allowed to defend the school too.”

“I’m glad you’ll be safe,” I replied firmly, and left. 

I ran back to my dormitory; I had forgotten my broom. This oversight rectified, I didn’t bother with my feet, and instead flew as fast as I could down the twisting corridors of the castle. I’ve never in my life flown so recklessly, but it was the only way to prevent myself from being even more greatly delayed, and so I took the chance of careening headlong in to a wall. As I went, my way was made more difficult by the way the corridors seemed to have shifted since last I had been this way. More than once I passed the animated suits of armor that guarded the castle, looking much less benign and far more ready to wield medieval weaponry than I had ever seen before. The hallways moved, and I wondered what other mechanisms were being turned on to protect the castle. Such musings did me little good, and in fact did harm, for they slowed my progress, and soon enough I returned my concentration to the task at hand rather than allowing my attention to wander. Thus it was that I took about an hour to reach the meeting point instead of the half-hour we’d be given, and had but 30 minutes remaining to prepare for the attack.

I was unchallenged for this lack of punctuality, thankfully, and found that my comrades had already completed the majority of the preparations that had been necessary. Indeed, the others were already on their brooms, patrolling the expanse of field that stood cleared for almost a quarter mile between the forest and the East wall of the castle. Professor Patronius remained; he was too heavy to fly, and now he hurried between cannon of various description which stood arrayed along the wall.

“Ms. Prince,” he sounded disapproving, but he didn’t reprimand me, “you will be placed on the far southeastern flank. The others are already in their positions. It will be your job to watch that entire side of the forest, and inform the rest if we are being flanked from the eastern expanse. Furthermore, you are beside Caius; should you feel that the mirror he bears should be activated, do inform him of such and defend him in all of his efforts to do so. Beyond that, do everything in your power to defend the castle, and flee if the danger becomes too great – though not without announcing that you are doing so. Do you know communico?” I nodded. It was a simple spell for sending messages to people near you; almost everyone knew it, though its utility was greatly hampered because it could not be activated covertly. That was no problem today, for there was little chance that sneakiness would be needed. Werewolves had quite remarkable senses of smell, and so it was unlikely that we would be able to hide from them even if we tried, and with our broomsticks it had to be hoped we could simply run away. “Very good,” continued the Professor. “Do you have any questions?”

“At one point should we leave the field?”

“We are to evacuate when the Hogwarts clock strikes 6 PM if we have not already been forced to retreat. I do not,” he added, “find it likely that we will be here that long.” He waited for other questions, but I could think of none.

I flew over to my position, greeting my comrades as I passed their positions. My place was the farthest from the castle and the most exposed; I felt very alone with only Caius Serence near me to offer support. By this point, darkness was falling. In the twilight, everything seemed to be moving. Shadows shifted along the grass, making me nervously glance over my shoulder, feeling as if we were being snuck up on. Trees clattered in the forest, their branches moving like tentacles. Clouds scuttled across the sky, and I imagined them zeppelins attacking. Without a watch and without being able to see the school clock, I had no sense of whether time was crawling or hurrying, and though I felt aware of every single second as it went by, at the same time it felt somehow as if dark was descending rapidly and the world moved forward more quickly than I could follow. The waiting was endless, and over in a moment.

Howls echoed over the grounds, chilling me to the bone. I couldn’t even begin to count how many throats made those noises. It seemed like an inconceivably high number. How many more were silent? I couldn’t bear to think of it. I readied myself, a potion in one hand, my wand in the other, for the attack that was coming. It was full dark now, and clouds cast dreary shadows over the moon-lit landscape. The full moon, the cause of so much happiness and romance, struck terror in to my heart as it seemed to laugh at us from the sky. The rustles from the forest were not only from the wind, now, and huge shadows shifted and from those places more howls were raised until the world shook with them.

In the sky, there was an explosion.

Fear for Marcus, for a moment, flooded all my senses, but it couldn’t last, for in the light that the explosion had momentarily produced it became clear that the lycanthropes were on the edge of the forest and about to attack. “They’re coming!” I shouted, and I heard the words come from the others as well, for we had all noticed. A cannon fired from the wall behind us, the howling reached a fever pitch, and then the charge came.

Despite what I knew, it was hardly conceivable that the monstrous forms that came from the forest were anything other than beasts. Were these really children like Celestine’s brother? Twisted bodies, gangly limbs tipped with razor sharp claws that caught the moonlight like polished steel, muzzled faces, tufted ears, and glowing, moon-colored eyes that reflected the lingering explosion in horrible shades of red. Dozens of them stood before me, coming determinedly from the woods, each one wearing a silver collar affixed to their throats.

There is no way to describe combat to those who have not experienced it. Everything happens at once, and if one acts at all it is without thinking. To not act risks death as surely as acting, but I have heard too often of those who experience paralysis when faced with that moment of truth. I was not one such. There was a stunned moment of incomprehension, a moment where I could not imagine how 8 students, 1 teacher, a little magic and some cannon could possibly defeat this hoard – the ones before me were only one end of the attack, there were more along the entire line and in the woods. After that moment, I didn’t hesitate more, and I joined in to the fight as another cannon shot scattered the ones before me.

At the time, I thought of nothing except flying my best, hurtling spells and potions, and trying to avoid the ravening mouths of our horrid attackers. I had a sense that something was holding some of the werewolves back, but I was too busy to put much thought in to what it might be. Nothing seemed to restrain those nearest me, and that was all that mattered. They clawed and bit, leapt and attacked. We drove them back with attacks of our own, hurled spells, fired the cannon, threw potions, and the first wave fell back, and I had a moment to assess how things stood.

My skirts were badly shredded, but I was as uninjured. I could not make out most of my comrades in the dark, but Caius seemed unhurt, and smirked in my direction. Something about his manner worried me, and I realized I should not have neglected to pay attention to him. Beyond him, I could just make out Deletrious’ hulking form. I could only hope that my friends were well. The howls were beginning again. How much time had we held? I’d not have heard a bell if it had rung. Could it have been an hour? It felt like very long indeed, but I had the feeling that the opposite was true; that the first assault had been mere minutes and that the second was coming again almost immediately. I collected myself as best I could and prepared. 

Above us, a battle raged, explosions big and small casting lurid shadows over the events on the ground. I couldn’t spare it much thought –perhaps I could have but I would not, for those thoughts frightened me so much that I could not bring myself to explore them, not when I had to focus. All I could do was hope, and do my best.

The sinking feeling that my best would be far from good enough could not be avoided as the second wave of attackers emerged from the woods. This time they moved without hesitation, charging at us from the woods in even greater numbers than before. My attention was divided between the fight and watching Caius. My trouble was well rewarded – or perhaps I should say had the worst reward imaginable. Though Caius was apparently fighting, his efforts were dilatory. My recent experience, my training with GAB, my knowledge of Quidditch, my intelligence, these skills combined to show me the terrible truth. Caius Serence was fighting against opponents not actually striking to hit. Frantically, while trying to defend myself, I tried to determine what this meant, what I should do about it. The answer seemed obvious, yet just out of reach. Claws dug in to my leg while I was distracted, and I cried out and hit the offender in the face with the potion I held; he fell away, and I swooped in to the air for a moment’s respite. The collars were the key. The collars told the werewolves who to attack and who not to attack. If the collars told the wolves to attack me, and not to attack Caius, it was because someone had made that decision. Someone wanted me attacked, but not him. Caius was protected. Caius was in league with the person who had sent the werewolves – with Pellucid Nox. Caius had the Mirror which was supposed to save us all.

Horrified, I tried to figure out what to do. I had to tell someone! But there was no chance to communicate, and while I had risen in the air, the wolves had pressed forward, and no cannon fire drove them back – it seemed to all be aimed elsewhere. I might be the only one who knew the truth. It fell to me to stop him. If I was near him, surely what protected him would at least somewhat protect me? I wished I could believe that the case. 

I tried to come up with the solution to this problem, but the choice was stolen from me by the wholly unexpected intervening. I had not realized I was drifting lower. I had not realized how high a werewolf could leap when taunted with an opponent seemingly out of reach. No less than three of them leapt and grabbed on to me. One failed to find purchase and fell to the ground. One latched itself on to the end of my broom and barely missed rending the flesh of my back. And the third?

There are moments that change our lives forever. There are moments that we can never return from, never go back to. Only rarely do we realize what they as they are happening. As the werewolves teeth sank in to my leg; as gravity did its horrible job tugging the beast groundward, ripping my calf apart as it fell; as my brain processed that the bite of the werewolf spreads its disease; as my blood started to boil in my veins and the moon started to speak to me; I knew what I had to do.

I had one potion left, and I had seconds before I became a beast. One freezing potion. I never felt so lucky in my entire life. I cried, for in my death I would never see Marcus again, but at least he would not have the horror of knowing what I had become; at least I would not have the pain of losing him. Caius was smirking. He looked in my direction like he knew what had happened, but I didn’t care; he didn’t know what I was about to do. 

Turning my broom, I sped towards him. The wolf clutching the twigs of the broomhead swiped at me again, scored a hit that might have caused me to scream moments before but which I now ignored, and then lost its balance and tumbled as my speed increased. Caius fended off a mock attack, a monstrous bite, and began to fly nonchalantly towards the lake. I adjusted my grip on the freezing potion I clutched as I hurtled towards him. I felt each second in my blood, each moment stretched as I felt my body changing and dreaded that I could reach him in time. How long did I have before I was a wolf, before I thought of nothing but destruction? I would be even worse than the monsters attacking us, for I had no collar to render me controllable. Would Pellucid Nox find me and collar me and make me a pet? He’d enjoy that, I thought, me in particular, the protégé of his former nemesis. Rage built in my heart, fury colored the world red, and I couldn’t recall that the anger was anything but normal, that it was a symptom of my transformation into an animal. The anger felt right. Seconds passed.

Caius looked startled only for a moment. He shouted something at me, but I didn’t hear. He didn’t realize what I was doing. My body collided into his as our broomsticks tangled together, we nosedived. The potion I had been holding shattered as our bodies collided; freezing potion splashed all over both of us. I knew from using it in this battle what a good strike with it would do to a werewolf; one potion would be enough to do the same to two people. I wondered if we’d shatter when we hit the ground. That would be merciful for me, I thought. I felt a sudden and utter chill, saw Caius’ skin turn blue and become etched in icicles. The cold battled with the red hot anger that coursed through me and the anger dwindled and cooled and then I was nothing but ice, wonderfully cold. I hoped Marcus would understand. This was the only way. If I could stop Caius, we could get the mirror, and we could still hold back the wolves. If I became one of them, my life was over. This was the only way. The cold felt so very good. I wished I could say good bye. 

The world faded from my sight.


	14. The Day After

I opened my eyes. I wanted to scream. I had never thought to awake again, and though I’d had mere moments to come to terms with my fate, I had accepted it. Death was infinitely preferable to life as a lyncanthrope, than spending the rest of my life as a monster. I’d have given anything, in that moment, to change the events that had brought me to whatever point had enabled me to recover. Starting to cry, a thought occurred to me. Maybe this was the afterlife. Maybe this was a dream. I might still be dead, please, just let me be dead!

A warm hand squeezed mine, offering silent support. My head jerked round to that side of the bed, and there sat Marcus. He looked like hell. His shirt was torn and blood showed through the gashes. His face was dirty and his hair wild, and for a moment concern for him overwhelmed my other thoughts, and might have continued to do so if it hadn’t been clear from his face that his only concerns were for me. “You shouldn’t be here,” I tried to say, but my tongue felt leaden and dry. I withdrew my hand from his – reluctantly, but necessarily – and reached for a water glass on a nearby table, and, seeing my aim, he passed it to me and helped me take a sip. I wanted to curse. I didn’t want his hand and I didn’t want his help. I didn’t want him anywhere near me. He had to leave, and I prepared myself to say whatever I must to force him away. To think, I had once thought I was bad for him because I was a little selfish! Now, I knew I was terrible for him because I was a hideous monster who would rip him to shreds when the moon became full. I almost wanted to laugh, the thought was so absurd, and I wondered if I was losing my mind.

The water felt wonderful in my throat. Marcus still said nothing, only watched me with those anxious eyes, and I tried again. “You shouldn’t be here.” The words came out this time.

“Don’t worry about me,” he replied, “these are nothing.” He made a vague gesture at the cuts on his chest. I felt guilty that that hadn’t been what I had meant, for it should have been given how serious they looked. 

“No,” I latched on to the idea. If only I could get him to leave the room! “They don’t look like nothing. You should go to the doctor.”

“We’re at a doctor – at St. Mungo’s Hospital,” his gesture took in the row of beds behind him and the horrible pale green walls. “It’s nothing.”

There wasn’t enough time for me to collect my thoughts. Perhaps had I more time to think, I would have acted differently. As it was, I gathered all of my wits, my courage, my pain and my horror at what I had become, and put on the most unpleasing expression I could imagine. He had taken my hand again, and now I wrenched it from his grasp and turned away. “That’s not what I meant,” I said nastily. “You shouldn’t be here. I don’t want you here. You should leave.”

“I know what you’re doing,” he answered me firmly. I couldn’t see his face, and I almost lost my resolve in my desire to look and see his expression. “It won’t work.”

“What I’m doing?” I snorted unappealing. “You don’t know anything. Get out of here. The person you cared about? She’s dead. She’s never coming back. There’s no one here who’ll answer to that description. You should leave.” I put everything I could in to sounding rough, rude, cruel, and, above all else, uncaring.

He made no answer for a long moment. I was ripping my heart out, and as the moment stretched on I could feel my firmness bleeding out as if I’d actually done the injury. I didn’t turn to him, though. I was proud of myself for that. “You don’t need to do this,” he spoke gently, and it cut me to the core. He sounded concerned, unconvinced.

Obviously, I needed to do more. Werewolves don’t need hearts. “Are you an idiot?” I snapped as meanly as I could. I rounded on him now. I’d have to look. My eyes – I hoped – glistened unfeelingly, like ice, and I did my best to fill my face with disdain and callousness. “Don’t you know what I am?” I laughed coldly. His worried expression was slowly slipping towards pained. Inside, I cried. “It’s over, can’t you understand that? I should have died today – Delia killed herself to avoid becoming what I now am. That heart, that soul, it’s fled in the face of this. All your nobility, all your good intentions, they’re useless to me now, to what I am. I have different goals, different dreams. You’d only be in the way.”

“I…” he hesitated. He was upset, but I could tell that for my sake he was trying to be calm and supportive. Damn the man! Did he suspect that it was an act? I looked daggers at him, and he flinched. He continued, though. “I do know what you are. The doctors told me, and suggested that you…that I should leave. I said no. I won’t leave you.” This last he infused with passion. Knowing how repetitive it is to say, still I’ll repeat that it cut me to my heart. I think something of my wavering strength must have shown – given what I was recovering from, how could my strength not be wavering? – and he smiled hesitantly. It was slightly terrible to see, his face pale and scratched and dirty as it was. 

“You shouldn’t bother,” I rebuked him forcefully, the moreso for my moment of weakness. “I want you to leave, so there’s no point in being stubborn. You think you know what I am? What do you know about it?”

“Enough to know what you’re doing,” his hesitancy had vanished. His concern, too, had slipped, and in its place was determination. “If you’re well enough to be doing this, then you are well enough for me to be firm. Remember, Delia, I’ve fought werewolves repeatedly while on WAP missions, werewolves created by this horror that Nox and his allies are perpetuating. I’ve seen enough to know that the werewolves are victims, and that they can’t help what they become.” He caught my eyes and held them. I tried to continue looking cool, but it was impossible. I flinched under his gaze and fought down brutally a tide of tears that threatened me. “I know it doesn’t change the person they are.” He moved from his chair to sit on the edge of my bed. “It doesn’t change who they are here,” he placed a hand on my forehead, “or here,” and the other hand on my heart. “Please, Delia,” he begged, not moving his hands, “I know what you are doing, but I also I know what I’m doing. I won’t leave you, not now, not ever. Because I love you.”

Inside me, something broke. He thought he understood, but he didn’t at all. He saw only me, and what I had become, without giving any thought to what it meant for me in a greater sense. My family would disown me when they knew. I’d be exiled from all wizarding society, an outcast, a reject, seen as unclean, dishonest, untrustworthy. I had nothing to look forward to beyond a life as a monster alone. If I was lucky, I’d be able to pass as a muggle, or to find places where I might occasionally spend a month or two where they didn’t know me or what I was, a month or two before they realized that the werewolf didn’t appear until the newcomer came, a month or two before I was driven onwards. Every wizard knew that werewolves were inherently evil, knew how dangerous it was to let one be around. No promises made while human would bind the wolf, and no human was safe from injury, death, or – worst of all – the disease of lycanthropy while a werewolf roamed the night. The idea of being a monster my entire life was horrible, almost too much to bear. I was not strong enough to face a life time of being reviled, and I wouldn’t. I didn’t intend to be alive in the morning if I could contrive a way to accomplish it. If I couldn’t manage suicide in the hospital, I knew enough about poisons to do for myself once I was released. “I don’t love you,” I snapped back, with all the rancor and hatred I felt for myself thrown at him. “Get out.” And I slapped him in the face as hard as I could.

His head whipped around in reaction, but he didn’t move from my side. Turning back to face me, his eyes filled with tears, he moved in a fashion the exact opposite from what I had hoped. He wrapped his arms around me in a tight embrace. He kissed me.

I choked on a sob before the kiss had even ended. Tears streamed from my eyes. He didn’t let go of the hug, though, and I cried in to his shoulder, my body shaking, my clawed back protesting painfully. “You have to,” I managed around my tears, begging. “You don’t know what you are doing, you have to leave! Please.”

He met my protestations stoically and said nothing. I wanted to stop crying, but I couldn’t seem to make myself do so. I didn’t want him to leave. I didn’t want him to let me go. I wanted to tell him that I loved him and would do anything if he’d stay, but I had enough presence of mind to hold those words back. I still thought to end it all before I could drag him down with me. Weakly, I tried to push him away. “Go,” I whimpered. “You have to go.”

His arms tightened. “I do know what I’m doing,” he answered. “I know you think you are protecting me, I know you think that this is the only way. Knowing you, you are planning something idiotic right at this moment, and I can’t let you do that. You think I don’t know what is coming? I know better than you. Your parents left half an hour ago, left when the doctors told them they thought you’d be waking soon. They didn’t want to have to talk to their dead daughter. That, they agreed, was what they would tell the world. Better to name you dead than for the world to find out that they had given birth to you. You think I don’t know what I’m doing? They told me I should leave, too, and when I said no, they – thinking they were doing me a kindness – went to a lot of effort to explain to me thoroughly how utterly stupid I was being, and how blind I was, and that I had to leave.” He sounded angry about it, though I couldn’t see his face. “I told them that they should be ashamed of themselves, and that they had no right to call themselves your parents, and had no right to have a daughter like you. They didn’t appreciate– I suppose I shouldn’t have said it, it was wrong of me – but I was so angry with them, to decide it was better to call you dead than to help you, to try to insist that I should do the same. I knew you hadn’t changed; it’s been hours, how could you possibly have changed?”

“I have changed,” I was glad for the crack. “You can’t imagine how it feels, you can’t imagine what it’s like. If you are near me the next time I change, I’ll kill you. I won’t be able to help it. You mustn’t be near me what that happens – hours?” What he had said sank in. “When I change tonight! You have to leave before then.”

“I will,” he said sadly, “though I want nothing less in the world. I’ll leave when the moon rises, and return at dawn, only and entirely because I have no choice, though it pains me immensely.”

“Yes,” I grasped this opening. “Leave! But don’t come back.”

He pushed me to arms length, his hands on my shoulders. “Do you love me?” he demanded. 

A shudder ran through my body. I couldn’t lie to him. “You have to go!”

“Do you love me?” he emphasized each word. His hands gripped me so hard that it hurt. Tears leaked from my eyes. I turned my face from his and didn’t answer him. “Delia!” I snapped back up; his tone could not be denied. My eyes met his, and I felt like I was falling in to them. There was no accusation there despite my expectations to the contrary. There was no anger, there was no rebuke, there was no fear. I don’t think I could have answered him if I had seen fear. That would have been the worst of all. Instead, all I saw was strength and courage and hope and love. The man, I decided, was completely insane. “Do you love me?”

“I do.”

What else could I have said? His face broke in to an angelic smile, and there were tears in his eyes. He was so busy being strong it was easy to forget that he was little older than me and had been under as much strain as I of late. “Then I will never leave.”

And as he leaned forward to kiss me again, I surrendered completely. If I couldn’t make him leave, if I couldn’t protect him from me, if he really knew what was in store for me – for us – than what else could I do but give in? Trembling, I accepted the kiss. When it was finished –not for some time, it was not at all the modest kiss of the previous day – he held me close and we spoke quietly.

He told me what he knew of the battle. The zeppelins had all been destroyed. His injuries had been sustained when one had been blown up near him. He didn’t say it outright, but he implied that this was due to Katrina, and that she might have done it intentionally. Both he and James Ferguson had been hurt in the blast. He knew less of my team, though he knew they had fled not long after I had fallen. Celestine had taken up my body and Deletrious had taken Caius. Lycia had been using the necklace she had to control some of the wolves, but whatever she was doing didn’t affect all of them. I asked about that where Caius was, and Marcus told me in believing us betrayed by the Slytherin, for Deletrious – after, thankfully, retrieving the mirror– had been attacked and had barely escaped and that his attackers had taken Caius from him and fled. Marcus thought it possible that Katrina was a traitor as well, though it was impossible to be certain for she’d not returned after the attack. We had won, though at a high price. Hogwarts had fallen. No one had seen the Headmaster since before the battle had finished. Miraculously not a single student had died. The worst that had happened had happened to me. I couldn’t find much joy in that.

“Did my parents…did they really…” I couldn’t finish, and he answered only with a nod. I shouldn’t have been surprised. No, I was only surprised that they hadn’t out and out disowned me. In truth, I was relieved that they only intended to pretend I was dead.

When the conversation ended, neither of us broached a new topic, and we sat quietly looking, I’m sure, horribly lovey. Sometime later, there was a knock on the door.

A doctor, wild haired in white and red robes, stuck a head in to the room. “Ms. Prince?” he looked at me, though his eyes didn’t quite focus. I had the uneasy feeling that this was the only doctor who had been willing to take care of me. “Yes, indeed, awake after all. Are you able to accept a guest?” I nodded. “Very good, very good. Mr. Reli…” he paused, trying to remember the name. “Mr…Relosh, are you sure you won’t submit to treatment? Those wounds will become infected if you don’t accept healing.” I started guiltily. Despite them bleeding slightly and standing out against his slashed robes, I had managed to get so wrapped up in everything else that I had largely forgotten about Marcus’ injuries.

He didn’t answer, but instead looked at me. “Go on,” I smiled. My face must have looked wretched. Marcus was skeptical. “It’s alright, truly.” He nodded, and squeezed my hand. I looked at the doctor. “Mr. Relious,” I emphasized the name, though the doctor didn’t seem to notice, “will accompany you. Please show in my visitor.”

“Yes, of course,” the doctor smiled, and my opinion of him warmed. Even if he was odd, he at least seemed to be treating me like he would have any other patient. I feared it would be rare for me to find people who didn’t treat me poorly in light of my illness.

The silence that filled the room when the door closed behind the doctor and Marcus was absolute. I felt overwhelmingly alone, and I thought I’d not have needed poison to kill me had Marcus left as I’d encouraged him to. This feeling of desolation and loneliness alone would have been adequate to complete my demise. Even knowing he would return, without his strength to support me the weight of what had happened settled on my shoulders, horror at what I had become, terror at the life of wandering and poverty that awaited me. Before my thoughts proceeded far, the door opened. The last person I expected to see came in.

Headmaster Phineas Nigellus didn’t look his best. His skin had taken on a distinctly greenish cast and the faint smell of decay wafted after him. He seemed in places bloated, and in places desiccated, and I had the horrifying thought of hoping he wasn’t aware of the way in which his body was decomposing while his half-life lingered. I wondered how much time he had left of his 24 hours, but didn’t have the heart to ask. He came and sat down in the chair vacated by Marcus and looked at me with an expression I couldn’t understand, which I thought in part due to his zombification.

“Ms. Prince,” he shifted a little uncomfortably. “I have little time remaining to me, but I felt it only right that I acquaint you with certain information first hand. I cannot but feel that your current condition is in large part my fault, and this brings me a great deal of guilt. Nox…” his voice was momentarily tinged with fury. “I should have done something about Pellucid Nox years ago. Yet now, the school has been taken, the students have fled, and I have mere hours – perhaps less – before I am once more a cadaver. There is nothing more I can do about that man. However, as to your own condition, I can yet be of service. After the defense of the school was completed, I had a discussion with my solicitor. As you are no doubt aware, I have no family of my own. My estates and entail had been to the Black family, to be distributed appropriately. This is no longer the case. I hope their falling on you can in some small way make amends for what you have suffered. Further, as I have learned that your family will not permit you to use the name Prince – I would be honored if you would accept the name Nigellus in its place.”

The Headmaster spoke feelingly, though with all of his usual brusqueness. I cannot easily explain what I thought as I heard this speech. To have my situation so kindly accepted by one with pure blood, to see the Headmaster again, to be welcomed in his family, was more than I had ever dreamt of. In an instant, the life of wandering I had feared fell away to be replaced instead by a life of hermitage and solitude. This, to me, was not nearly as unappealing. In a comfortable home of my own, with a place where I would not be driven away, I could take steps to protect those around me. With financial support I could live my life and perhaps have the chance to pursue some of those purposes that had always been my goal. Gratitude and love overwhelmed me. My mentor was a great man.

“What does the Black family feel about this, sir?”

“Well,” the Headmaster said a little vaguely. “They are not yet acquainted with the details, since the Will cannot be read until I am legally deceased. As it is, I expect that they will contest it, but I have made certain it is beyond their power to change and written out several letters to that effect. I suspect that this will result in my posthumously being disowned. I consider that the price for the mistakes that I have made.” He smiled at me, and I smiled back. 

“I don’t know what to say. Thank you, Headmaster.” I tried to suffuse my thanks with all the affection which I felt for my mentor. Judging by his expression, I succeeded.

“If you’ll excuse me,” he apologized, rising. “I fear that my time is nearly past, and there are several more things that need my attention. Be well, Ms. Prince.” And I watched the Headmaster turn and leave. I never saw him again, nor was I even permitted to attend the funeral.

It was much later when Marcus joined me, but I was pleased to see that his injuries had been bound. He looked angry. I had heard some shouting from the hallway without being able to make out more than the general tone of the conversation, and now I realized that Marcus had been one of the participants in the fight. “Is everything alright?” I asked worriedly. “What time is it?” I had realized, as I lay there, that as the day passed the danger to myself and those around me increased. I suspected that this related to Marcus’ frustration and my guess proved to be right.

“The staff at St. Mungos will not allow you to remain the night. They claim they have no secure rooms – despite the fact that I found them myself,” he snapped. “They’re rather unpleasant rooms, more like prison cells than anything, but they exist. The staff say only the insane are kept there and will not see you transferred. They insist on your removal.” He stopped abruptly. “I’m sorry,” he said finally. “I didn’t mean to say all of this to you. I’ve been trying to think of where you could be removed to. I thought perhaps my parents…” 

I smiled gently. “Don’t be ridiculous,” I said, “I would never endanger your family, your sisters, with such a foolish move.”

“You’re right, of course,” he sighed. “But do you have anywhere to go?”

I thought about it. It was strange to realize that, unlike so few hours ago, my situation seemed much more manageable. Marcus wasn’t going to leave me and the Headmaster had provided for my future. The combination had given me stability, some peace of mind, that now made it possible to think of something other than killing myself as soon as possible. The will to live, they say, is strong.

“Yes,” I nodded. “It’s not officially in my possession yet, but the guest who came – the Headmaster – has given me a home. He has left his estate to me in his will.”

“Truly? That’s wonderful!”

“I’m shocked,” I admitted. “Though the terms of the will are potentially problematic, still he is certain it will come in to my possession. I can remove there, and find some place in the house where I can be suitably constrained.”

With Marcus’ help, this plan was speedily enacted. Though my wounds were not entirely healed, the Healers at St. Mungos were determined to see me depart, and I doubt anyone has gone through the paperwork as fast. They even waved the normal 1 sickle fee they charged for Flue Powder, and less than an hour saw me saying my farewells to Marcus. I was willing to accept his companionship, and willing to share our love, but there was no way that I would allow him to be near me during the full moon. It had taken little enough effort to convince him of this, for which I was heartily glad.

“I will come in three days,” he promised me. “And we will discuss what we are to do next.”

“Do next?” I asked. “Whatever do you mean?”

“We can’t leave things as they are now,” he said with a smile. “The school fallen, the Germans are winning, Nox is on the loose, willing to use all manner of automata and dark arts to get his way – no, something must be done!” I frowned. I wasn’t sure that we were the ones to do this. More than ever in my life I wanted peace, quiet, and solitude. I had thought that I had found that, but judging by the fire in his voice my hopes were not to be.

“We can discuss that later,” I said finally. I shifted, a little pointedly, to emphasize that – due to the only partially healed injury in my leg – I found standing to be painful, and Marcus started.

“I’m sorry,” he sighed. “Here, let me help you.”

We walked together to the fireplace, where a staff member was waiting for us, looking very anxious for my departure. This didn’t stop her, however, from gasping in amazement when Marcus and I parted with a kiss. I reminded myself that I would have to get used to such things, just as I would have to get used to what awaited me when darkness fell. Even as I stepped to the fire place, even as I waved at the man that I loved with all my heart, even as I considered that in hours I would become a monster, even as I considered the imprudence of installing myself in a home that had been mine for mere hours and where some would surely attempt to drive me out, one other thought seemed to whisper in the background, Marcus’ words ringing in my ears. Something must be done. Something must be done about Nox, about Germany, about the school, about the departed students, about the Werewolves. Something must be done, and I was, I realized with resolve, prepared to do it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Um. That's it. That's where the story ends. That's where the game ended.
> 
> One of my dearest friends was met playing this game - Eric, who portrayed Marcus - and though it's been a decade, we're still close. From time to time, we talk about this, and what would have happened next. There was a point, in 2008ish, when I thought about writing more, but the truth is, at this point I doubt it will ever happen. If I were to continue it, I would do so by recasting it into an original fiction story, rewriting this first book and going from there.
> 
> The basic outline, though is that they'd take the fight to the mainland, with the help of some of the other students who would say. They'd deal with scads of werewolves, face off against Nox, and rescue Galatea. Presumably, this would have a positive impact on the course of the war, in favor of the allies.
> 
> Using her vast knowledge of potions, and her talent for them, Delia would end up being the creator of the werewolf calming potion that, much later, Snape makes for Lupin.
> 
> She and Marcus would be wed.
> 
> The Blacks would contest the will, ultimately unsuccessfully. The Blacks would not be willing to share their illustrious last name, and even the Relious would be reluctant to let her into the family, so she'd stay a Nigellus, and so would their children.
> 
> I wish we'd gotten to play more from here, or even that Eric and I had just sat down and talked it through. Maybe some day we will, but probably not.
> 
> So, yeah. Hope you've enjoyed this glimpse of "how far I've come" as a writer - I only minimally cleaned this up before posting it (doing things like removing weasel words - I was MUCH worse about those back in the day), this is a pretty genuine idea of how I wrote ten years ago. It's a reminder to me of how far hard work can get one - I've written probably three quarters of a million words since I finished this, maybe more - and if you like my current writing and are surprised by the lower quality of this, and you're a writer, I hope you'll see that same potential in yourself. No one starts really good. You just work and work until you get better.
> 
> Happy reading and writing, folks! :)


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